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WYOMING 


INDIAN  MELODIES 


AND   OTHER   POEMS 


BY 


RICHARD    LYNOTT  O'MALLEY 


PHILADELPHIA: 

KETTERLIXUS  PRINTING  HOUSE,  Arch  and  Fourth  Streets. 
1891. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1891, 

BY  RICHARD  LYNOTT  O'MALLEY, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


PREFACE. 

The  question  may  be  asked — and  very  properly,  too— 
why  the  author  has  been  induced  to  submit  for  publica 
tion  many  of  the  poems  contained  in  this  volume.  The 
answer  is  this:  Not  that  the  compositions  just  alluded  to 
are  of  marked  literary  excellence,  nor  that  they  possess 
any  singularly  valuable  historic  merit,  but  simply  because, 
owing  to  the  topical  characteristic  of  the  subject-matter 
involved,  their  embodiment  in  this  work  was  strenuously 
requested  by  friends  in  Wyoming  Valley.  This,  however, 
is  not  said  with  a  view  to  escape  censure ;  far  from  it. 
Such  a  measure  were,  indeed,  worse  than  idle  ;  for  harsh 
criticism  follows  everything  new  just  as  inevitably  as 
night  follows  the  day.  The  purpose  of  the  statement  is 
to  disarm  the  critic,  if  possible,  of  any  preconceived 
notion  he  may  entertain  as  to  a  definite  degree  of  excel 
lency  to  which  every  work  of  art  must  necessarily  attain, 
irrespective  of  its  subject-matter,  its  character,  its  motive, 
or  the  principle  inculcated. 

Sufficient  fairness  may  be  frequently  rendered  by 
criticizing  objectively  rather  than  subjectively.  Infer 
ences  should  be  drawn  from  what  is  actually  in  the  book, 
not  from  what  ought  to  be  in  it ;  not  from  a  creation  of 
something  entirely  new,  having  shape  merely  in  the  mind 

of  the  reader. 

R.  L.  O. 

1823104 


CONTENTS. 


FAREWELL  TO  WYOMING,      ' 

o 

BY  FAIR  SUSQUEHANNA, 

DISAPPOINTMENT.     LIFE, 

THE  GOOD  MAN, 

LORD  BYRON, 

A  SUSQUEHANNA  LEGEND, 

CAROL  TO  WYOMING, I2 

THE  OLD  SCHOOL  BELL, 

FRUITION, 

GLYC.EA,       '5>  95 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  CHILDHOOD, 

LOVE  BY  THE  SEA, ' 

To  MY  FRIEND  F.  M.     To  MR.  LINK,   . 

LINES  KIR  A  SCHOOL-GIRL'S  AUTOGRAPH  ALBUM, >7 

To  WYOMING, 

THE  FINAL  LEAF,      

To  FRANK  MARTIN,  .    . 

NFSIIANNOCK  LEGEND, 

To  CLEMATIS,     ...  ...   22,  52,  53,  96 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL-BELL,     .    .    . 

THE  LOVER'S  LAMENT, 

LOVE  AND  FANCY, 

FRIENDSHIP'S  TONE  AND  LAUGH,    . 

CAMPBELL'S  LEAP,  ....  27-3* 

ADIEU,  TILL  WE  MEET  AGAIN,.    . 

O  SWEET  THE  DREAM  OF  BY-GONE  DAYS, 

SONG  OF  PARTING  COMPANIONS,. 

MIDNIGHT  VISIONS 

To  ANNA, 

ANNA, 35 

THEY  SAY  THAT  THE  FAIRIES  HAVE  POWER,.    .    .    . 
FRIENDSHIP'S  CHAIN,     . 

TO    CL*  MATTS,    ON    HIS    THIRTEENTH     BIRTHDAY, 

SONG  TO  THE  BUTTERCUP, 

O  WHERE  is  THE  BLOOM  THAT  BLUSHED,  . 

SONNET   ro  THE  OLD  YEAR.     SONNET  TO  F.  B  ,    ....  -4° 

SONG  OF  CUPID, 

GULA  AND  LILY  AND  NET 


6  CONTENTS. 

FATHER  OF  THE  NIGHT  AND  MORN.     MINEPHTHAH,        42 

QUARREL  OF  BRUTUS  AND  CASSIUS, 43-45 

THE  CHIEFTAIN  AND  HIS  BARD, 46-48 

"BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK!" 48 

THE  GRIEF  OF  AVOCA, 49 

SPRING  SMILES  AGAIN, 50-52 

CHRISTMAS  BELL, 54 

Is  HE  DEAD? 55 

ALKRANE'S  SONG, 56-58 

AUTUMN  IN  PREHISTORIC  WYOMING 58 

SCENE  IN  PREHISTORIC  WYOMING, 59 

A  LACKAWANNA  LEGEND,    .    .    .  •    .    • 60 

TALAKEENA'S  CHASE,    .  .    .    .    . 61-63 

ALKRANE'S  SONG  OF  LOVE, 63-65 

ALKRANE'S  PROPHECY,     65-69 

ALKRANE'S  SONG,  MAUKANAW, 69 

CONFLICT  BETWEEN  TALAKEENA  AND  MAUKANAW, 70-74 

TALAKEENA'S  BISON  CHASE, 74 

TALAKEENA  AT  EVENING, 75 

TALAKEENA'S  BATTLE  WITH  THE  WHITE  MEN, 76-80 

NONSENSE  AND  NOISE, 80 

WEEP  NOT.    THE  PIG  AND  THE  DRUNKARD, 81 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  SCHOOL  DAYS, 82-87 

MY  SOUL, 87 

To  MY  SISTER  MARY,  ON  HER  FOURTEENTH  BIRTHDAY,    .    .    .  87-90 

ENTOMBED  COAL  MINERS  AT  SOUTH  WILKESBARRE, 90 

EVENING  IN  SUMMER, 91 

CALEPSYCHF, 92 

GOOD-BYE,  MY  FRIEND.     LINES  FOR  AN  AUTUGXAPH  ALBUM,     .    .    93 

To  Miss  M., 94 

AN  ANSWER.     PHOEBE, 95 

To  CALLIE 96 

ON  THE  BANKS  OF  SUSQUEHANNA.     TRUE  HAPPINESS,      97 

MY  REPENTANCE, 98 

I'M  GROWING  OLD, 98 

EPISTLE  TO  F.  M., 99-102 

AN  EARNEST  THANKSGIVING;  OR  THE  DRUNKARD  AND  His  BOY,  102-105 

A  PRAYING  AND  TRUSTING,      105 

MORNING  HYMN, 105 

EVENING  HYMN, 105 

OUR  DUTY, 106 

THE  HAUNTED  FOREST, 106-111 

PROMETHEUS  BOUND.     A  MONODY, 112-120 


WYOMING  AND  INDIAN  MELODIES 

AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


WYOMING. 

O  sweet  is  the  vale  of  Wyoming  and  mild  ! 

It  gave  my  first  light,  on  my  childhood  it  smiled, 

And  it  will  smile  on  my  manhood,  for  how  could  I  part 

With  a  friend  that's  implanted  so  deep  in  my  heart  ! 

O  had  I  the  tongue  of  a  honey-voiced  bird, 

Then,  then  would  thy  praise,  fair  Wyoming,  be  heard  ; 

Aye,  then  I  might  tell,  with  a  spell-giving  sound, 

The  magic  which  dwells  on  thy  bosom  around. 

But  I  weep  as  I  gaze  on  thy  beauteous  scene — 

On  thy  hills  and  thy  forests  in  slumber  serene, 

On  thy  river  which  forth  in  its  majesty  sweeps — 

O  I  weep,  and  my  spirit  within  me  weeps, 

for  I  know  that  a  mortal  could  never  reveal 

Half  the  magic  I  see,  half  the  rapture  I  feel ; 

But  a  wish  I  can  give,  though  my  best  praises  fail : 

May  thy  bloom  never  fade,  sweet  Wyoming,  my  vale  ! 

FAREWELL  TO   WYOMING. 

Wyoming,  sweet  valley,  I  leave  thee  in  pain  ! 

For  with  thee  were  my  happiest  hours  ; 
Alas  !  I  with  my  playmates  may  never  again 

Be  blessed  with  the  charm  of  thy  bowers  ! 


8  KY  FAIR   SUSQUEHANNA. 

O  wild  are  thy  mountains  and  forests,  so  rare. 

And  rugged  and  steep  are  thy  hills, 
And  sweet  is  the  sound  of  thy  rivulets  fair. 

And  rushing,  meandering  rills. 

Wide-spread  through  thy  woodland  and  over  thy  plains 

Bloom  flowers,  unrivaled  in  hues, 
By  soft  zephyrs  kissed,  and  cooled  by  the  rains, 

And  nurtured  by  evening  dews. 

Thy  scenery,  thy  wildiiess,  thy  beaut}-,  thy  blush, 

When  smiled  on  by  fairest  of  skies, 
O  how  could  I  paint  without  dipping  my  brush 

In  paints  of  the  rainbow  dyes  ! 

Is  it  thus,  I  wonder,  with  every  heart  ? 

Does  each  think  his  land  is  the  best  ? 
Does  each  gladden  to  meet,  does  each  sadden  to  part 

With  the  scene  which  in  childhood  has  blest  ? 

Ah,  deep  is  my  sadness  !     I  leave  thee  to-day — 
Big  and  warm  was  the  tear  which  now  fell ; 

Yes,  my  Eden,  I  sigh — for,  I  can  not  well  say, 
"  Wyoming,  sweet  valley,  farewell  !   ' 

BY   FAIR  SUSQUEHANNA. 

By  fair  Susquehanna  my  childhood  has  been  ; 

There  I  romped  when  a  wild  wanton  boy  ; 
And  'tis  there  that  my  playmates  and  I  could  be  seen 

When  our  bosoms  heaved  lightest  with  joy. 

There  hailed  we  the  storm,  hailed  the  sunlight  which  stole 

To  the  bower  and  nook  where  we  met — 
Ay,  a  spark  of  its  ardor  still  glows  in  my  soul, 

And  it  warms  me  to  happiness  yet ! 

Dame  nature,  my  river,  still  smiles  upon  thee 

As  she  smiled  in  my  infancy's  day  ; 
Yet  I  sigh,  though  thy  voice  and  thy  laugh  welcome  me, 

For  my  playmates  ;  O  stream,  where  are  they  ? 


D1SAPPO1XTMEXT.  9 

Enough  that  I  view  thee  alone  and  downcast, 

Where  together  so  oft  we  have  played  ; 
Enough  that  I  sigh  for  dear  friends  of  the  past 

Who  with  me  this  same  landscape  surveyed  ! 
Yes,  aged  am  I,  and  the  last  of  my  race, 

And  the  world  is  estranged  from  me  ; 
Yet,  though  my  old  playmates  I  ne'er  .shall  embrace, 

I  ma}-  live,  Susquehanna,  for  thee. 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 
I  awoke  at  the  dawn  of  a  school  holiday, 

And  the  heavens  with  clouds  were  o'ercast ; 
And  I  prayed  for  the  sunlight's  tiniest  ray, 

But  the  rain  fell  heavy  and  fast. 
Then  I  calmed  my  heart  with  the  hope  that  soon 

It  would  clear  :  and  the  sun  at  last 
I  saw,  and  I  hoped,  but  alas  !  at  noon 

The  rain  fell  heavy  and  fast. 
Now  faster  and  faster  poured  the  rain, 

vStill  I  hoped  through  the  storm  and  the  blast ; 
And  the  night  came  frowning  ;  my  hopes  were  vain, 

For  the  rain  fell  heavy  and  fast. 
Ah  !  my  holiday  fled  on  her  own  rainy  wind, 

And  my  hopes  followed  close  on  her  flight  ; 
But  the  cold  disappointment  still  clouded  my  mind 

Which  had  chilled  me  from  morning  till  night. 
Then  I  thought  "  It  is  thus  with  full  many  a  life  ; 

Each  hope  comes  and  goes  like  a  breath  ; 
And  the  mortal  toils  on  with  vain  hope  through  the  strife, 

From  childhood  to  manhood  and  death.1' 

LIFE. 

Life  is  a  rose  bush  ;  we  hail  fortune's  blush, 

Nor  think  of  the  ills  that  have  tricked  us  ; 

Thus,  pleased  by  the  roses  we've  plucked  from  the  bush, 

We  forget  the  thorns  that  have  pricked  us. 


10  LORD    BYROX. 

THE   GOOD   MAX. 

I  met  a  man  on  Life's  thronged  way, 

And  thought  at  once  that  man  was  good  : 
I  learned  to  know  him  ;  strange  to  say, 
Still  thought  I  that  the  man  was  good. 
A  virtue  loves  he,  not  for  praise, 
But  for  that  virtue's  sake  ;  to  daze 
By  show  disdained  he.     Years  his  ways 
I  watched,  and  still,  O  still  I  thought  him  good. 

Ah  !  ask  you  why,  amidst  the  van 
Of  heroes,  place  I  him  who  ran 
His  race  of  life  in  goodness  true  ? 
Ask  you  what  marvel  did  he  do  ? 
Duty  to  God,  and  self,  and  man  ! 
He  ended  good  as  he  began  ; 
Such  men,  alas,  are  few  ! 

LORD    BYRON. 

Lord  Byron  was  a  gifted  man, 

A  poet  and  a  chief : 
His  conscience,  like  a  tattered  book. 

Could  never  get  re-leaf. 

Strong  was  his  mind  and  strong  his  frame, 

But  crooked  was  his  sole  : 
His  lips  of  beauty  seemed  a-part, 

And  yet  they  formed  a  ( w )holc. 

His  heart,  though  like  a  dandy-lion, 
Possessed  a  wondrous  power  ; 

It  bloomed  and  flourished  like  a  plant 
That  you  would  call-a-flower. 

He  helped  the  Greeks  in  freedom's  cause, 
With  fortune,  fire  and  sword  : 

Xor  lowered  his  colors  in  the  fight 
Till  he  became  deep-lowered. 


A    SUSQUEHANXA    LEGEND.  II 

Ah,  there  he  died,  great  lord,  in  Greece, 

Beneath  a  Turkey's  feet, 
In  a-dry-attic  suite  of  rooms, 

Unlike  to  Heaven  sweet. 

A   SUSQUEHANNA   LEGEND. 

'Twas  moonlight  on  fair  Susquehanna's  wave, 
And  the  rays  a  sad  sheen  to  the  ripples  gave  ; 
Still  the  ripples  smiled,  and  the  ripples  hummed, 
As  if  to  all  gloomness  and  sadness  benumbed. 
And  every  soft  breeze  from  the  western  shore 

Was  laden  with  sighs  from  a  maiden  fair, 
Who  watched  'neath  the  willows  which  shadowed  her  o'er, 

And  she  sighed  and  she  wept  as  she  watched  alone  there. 
Ah  !  deep  sighed  the  maiden,  and  tears  filled  her  eyes, 
And  the  willows  wept  too  and  re-echoed  her  sighs. 

Now  far  o'er  the  water  toward  Pittston  she  glanced, 
And  now  on  the  ripples  which  prattled  and  danced  ; 
Still  the  ripples  smiled,  and  the  ripples  hummed, 
As  if  to  all  yearning  and  sadness  benumbed. 
"  Ah,  love  !  "  she  sighed,  "  Why,  why  this  delay  ? 

Hast  thou  broken  the  vow  in  thy  bosom  deep  hid? 
No,  my  loved  one — no,  no  !  naught  else  keeps  thee  away 

Than  death — than  death,  and  such  Heaven  forbid  !  " 
Then  deep  sighed  the  maiden,  while  tears  filled  her  eyes, 
And  the  willows  wept  too  and  re-echoed  her  sighs. 

Far  over  the  waters  she  ga/.ed  in  vain  ; 
Then  gazed  on  the  ripples,  and  back  again  ; 
vStill  the  ripples  smiled,  and  the  ripples  hummed, 
As  if  to  all  yearning  and  sadness  benumbed. 
Lo,  now  the  sound  of  an  oar  she  hears  ; 

Sweet,  sweet  is  her  transport,  her  sighs  are  no  more  ; 
Alas  !  soon  flee  her  smiles  as  the  vessel  nears  ; 

She  sees  a  white  form  at  the  plashing  oar. 
Then  deep  sighed  the  maiden,  while  tears  filled  her  eyes  ; 
And  the  willows  wept  too  and  re-echoed  her  sighs. 


12  CAROL    TO    WYOMING. 

She  stared  at  the  vessel  as  one  insane, 

Then  stared  at  the  ripples,  then  back  again  ; 

Still  the  ripples  smiled  and  the  ripples  hummed, 

As  if  to  all  sorrow  and  sadness  benumbed. 

L,o,  the  figure  in  white  from  her  bosom  distressed 

Moaned  aloud,  "  O,  my  brother — my  brother  is  dead  ! 
He  sent  me  to  bear  his  last  wish  to  thy  breast, 

The  wish  to  embrace  thee  where  angels  are  wed  !  " 
Then  deep  sighed  the  maiden,  while  tears  filled  her  eyes  ; 
And  the  willows  wept  too  and  re-echoed  her  sighs. 

Then  shrieked  she,  "  Alas  !  left  alone  to  deplore," 
Then  plunged  neath  the  ripples,  to  rise  nevermore  : 
Still  the  ripples  smiled,  and  the  ripples  hummed, 
As  if  to  all  woe  and  all  sorrow  benumbed. 
And  now,  at  each  twilight,  there  oft  may  be  seen, 

When  'tis  moonlight  on  fair  Susquehanna's  wave, 
A  maiden  white  robed  on  the  willowy  green, 

As  she  weeps  and  sighs  o'er  a  watery  grave. 
Ah,  still  sighs  the  maiden,  while  tears  fill  her  eyes  ; 
And  the  willows  weep  too  and  re-echo  her  sighs. 

CAROI^  TO   WYOMING. 

Forgive  me,  Wyoming,  this  boldness 

Of  pouring  my  rapture  to  thee  ; 
But  how  can  I  slumber  in  coldness 

When  thou  art  a  warm  friend  to  me  ! 

I  know  that  my  tongue  ill  portrays  thee, 
But,  when  thy  sweet  smiles  on  me  burn, 

O,  how  can  I  help  but  to  praise  thee, 
And  give  thee  one  smile  in  return  ! 

Ah,  forget  I  the  gifts  thou  hast  given, 

Which  bless  my  fond  playmates'  and  me  ? 

O,  the  sun  shall  forget  to  climb  heaven, 
Ere  I  am  forgetful  of  thee  ! 


THE    OLD    SCHOOL-BELL.  13 

Thou  hast  given  the  glad  river  I  row  in, 
And  thy  hills  are  my  playmates'  and  mine  ; 

Thou  hast  given  the  wild  forest  I  go  in 
For  bird-nest  and  fruit  tree  and  vine. 

It  is  thou  that  has  given  the  fierce  mountains, 
And  the  peak  where  bold  Campbell  met  death  ; 

And  'tis  thou  that  hast  given  cool  fountains, 
Whose  waters  leap  fathoms  beneath. 

How  I  thrill  as  I  mingle  my  laughter 

With  the  spray  as  it  laughs  on  the  rocks  ! 

While  its  lightnings  and  thunders  peal  after 
And  the  crows  flutter  round  me  in  flocks  ! 

(),  thou  wilt  forgive  me,  Wyoming, 

This  rapture  in  wildness  to  thee. 
For  'twas  thou  that  first  ledst  me  a-roaming, 

And  taughtst  this  wild  freedom  to  me. 

Then  here's  to  thee,  sweetest  of  valleys  ! 

From  thy  own  mountain  spray  do  I  quaff; 
May  thy  zephyr  which  round  me  now  dallies 

Kver  echo  thy  praise  in  my  laugh. 

THE   OLD   SCHOOL-BELL. 

I  pause  upon  Life's  worn  threshold, 

And  gaze  with  a  weary  eye 
Far  backward  through  memory's  vista, 

Wrhere  many  quaint  relics  lie. 
I  see  the  old  school-bell  swinging, 

Imparting  familiar  chimes, 
And  it  brings  unto  me  a  vision 

Of  far  away  by-gone  times. 
The  tones  have  the  same  wild  clearness, 

The  very  same  tale  they  tell ; 
O,  that  mortal  could  live  ever  onward 

Unchanged  like  the  old  school-bell. 


14  FRUITION. 

Still  the  same  does  that  school-bell  clamor, 

But  not  to  my  ears,  alas  ! 
Xor  the  ears  of  my  dear  old  playmates  ; 

It  speaks  to  a  different  class. 
It  calls  them  and  laughs  as  it  calls  them, 

And  sets  them  afresh  at  their  toil ; 
And  tells  them  that  perseverance 

Uncovers  the  richest  spoil. 
Ring  on,  ring  on,  O  my  school-bell  ; 

L,et  other  breasts  heave  to  thy  swell  ; 
Let  other  hearts  learn  how  to  love  thee, 

Be  ever  the  old  school-bell. 
Of  all  my  old  class,  my  companions, 

None,  none  now  remains  but  me  ; 
And  I,  too,  am  fast  approaching 

That  boundless  eternity. 
Thus,  one  after  one  \ve  are  withered  ; 

The  bell  never  sees  our  woe, 
But  onward  to  other  school  boys 

She  laughs  in  her  course  to  and  fro. 
Her  tones  have  the  same  wild  clearness, 

The  very  same  tale  they  tell  ; 
O,  that  mortal  could  live  ever  onward. 

Unchanged  like  the  old  school-bell. 

FRUITION. 

Fruition,  phantom  of  delight, 
Thou  sweet,  beguiling,  joyous  sprite, 
Come,  free  my  heart  from  worldly  care, 
And  re-instate  youth's  pleasures  there  ; 
And  like  a  blessing  from  above, 
Teach  my  dull  spirit  how  to  love  ; 
And  teach  it,  teach  it  to  forget 
The  long-lived  sadness  it  has  met. 
Thou  fairy  bird  of  fleeting  wings, 
The  potent  charms  thy  magic  brings 


GLYC.KA.  15 

Assuage,  expel  ray  keenest  pain, 
And  smile  my  soul  to  joy  again  ; 
Around  my  wean'  head  then  hover, 
And,  with  the  rapture  of  a  lover, 
Impart,  with  all  thy  energy, 
Thy  fondest,  sweetest  melody. 
O  now  thou  seemest  near  to  me, 
vSo  near  I  fear  of  losing  thee, 
And  \vhispers  vague  torment  my  brain, 
Hinting  that  all  my  hope  is  vain. 
O,  that  our  arms  might  interlace, 
And  lock  for  aye  in  sweet  embrace  ! 
Then,  what  were  wrorldly  care  to  me, 
For  life  itself  were  ectasy  ! 

GLYd-KA. 

They  tell  me  a  tale  of  the  early  world, 

How  angels  from  Heaven's  own  portals  were  hurled, 

Who,  awhile,  had  forgot  their  celestial  birth, 

And  forgot  their  high  bliss  for  the  maidens  of  earth. 

For  a  time,  my  Glycsea,  I  could  not  believe 

That  Heaven  was  risked  for  the  daughters  of  Eve  ; 

I  could  not  believe,  till — O,  how  shall  I  say  ! 

Till  I  saw — till  I  saw  thy  charms  brighten  the  day  ; 

Then  I  knew  why  the  angels  forgot  their  high  bliss, 

For  who  would  not  err  for  a  transport  like  this  ? 

Again  have  I  heard  of  a  mystic  parterre, 

Where  lovers  in  dalliance  fond  ever  were, 

While  their  eyes,  like  the  starlight,  that  I^den  illumed, 

And  their  kisses  and  smiles  into  rosebuds  bloomed. 

O,  had  I  a  garden,  in  whose  magic  bowers 

All  my  prayers,  all  my  wishes  might  bud  into  flowers, 

Whose  odors  might  murmur  my  love-sighs  for  me, 

What  a  wreath  should  I  twine,  O,  Glycaea,  for  thee  ! 

What  a  wreath  fed  with  love,  O,  'twould  never  decay  ! 

But  fed  with  such  true  love,  'twould  blossom  for  aye. 


1 6  LOVE    BY   THE    SEA. 

RECOLLECTIONS   OF   CHILDHOOD. 

O  !  fond  recollections  of  innocent  childhood. 

Again  do  ye  speak  of  my  long-faded  joy: 
Ye  lead  me  once  more  to  my  dearly-loved  wildwood, 

Where  I  with  1113-  brothers  have  played  when  a  boy. 
Again  do  I  stray  'mid  the  shadowy  bowers. 
Hard  by  the  green  meadow  bespangled  with  flowers — 
O,  'twas  here  that  my  heart  knew  its  happiest  hours. 

In  pleasures  which  nothing  I  thought  could  destroy. 

Still  the  same  do  the  songsters  pour  gladsome  their  number, 

It  seems  that  they  know  me,  and  wish  to  rejoice  ; 
But  where  are  the  voices  whose  echoes  now  slumber, 
And  where  are  the  hearts  which  throbbed  here  to  my 

voice  ? 

Go,  ask  I  the  lark  in  yon  sweet-scented  clover  : 
Ask  the  bee  and  the  butterfly  there  as  they  hover  : 
They  will  say  that  the  days  of  my  brothers  are  over. 
And  the  graves  in   that  meadow  they  took  for  their 
choice. 

O  !  pictures  of  childhood,  so  bright  and  enchanting. 
How  fairy-like  now  in  the  present  ye  seem  : 

For  years  ye  have  haunted,  and  still  ye  are  haunting, 
My  soul  in  each  idle  and  wandering  dream. 

Fare-thee-well,  O  thou  scene  of  my  earliest  pleasure  ! 

Yes,  thee,  whom  I  claim  as  my  mind's  dearest  treasure  ! 

To  me  thou  rnay'st  give  empty  joy  without  measure, 
But  ne'er  can'st  restore  my  lost  rapturous  stream  ! 

LOVE   BY   THE   SEA. 

O  !  lovely  the  form  of  the  maiden. 

As  she  wandered  alone  by  the  sea, 
And  lovely  with  beauty  enladen 

\Yere  the  eyes  which  fell  fond  upon  me  ; 
And  I  met  that  gaze  in  a  trance-like  daze, 

And  I  lingered  awhile  by  the  sea. 


TO    MY  FRIEND    F.    M.  IJ 

Sweet,  sweet  were  the  moments  that  followed, 

As  together  we  strayed  by  the  sea, 
And  sweet  were  the  whispers,  and  hallowed 

The  vow  which  gave  heaven  to  me  ; 
And  we  sealed  our  bliss  with  a  votive  kiss 

As  we  lingered  awhile  by  the  sea. 

Xow  blissful  each  calm  twilight  minute, 

The  fleet  minute  we  spend  by  the  sea  ; 
We  smile,  and  each  wavelet  has  in  it 

A  smile  for  my  loved  one  and  me  ; 
And  the  starlight  streams,  and  our  lovelight  beams, 

As  we  linger  in  bliss  by  the  sea. 

TO    MY    FRIKND    F.    M., 

NICK-NAMED  ''  1-RA    DIAYOLO  "    (THE    UEVII.'S    BROTHER.) 

O,  Fra  Diavolo,  well  have  they  named  you  ! 

A  fitter  name  is  it  than  any  other, 
Except  the  name  which  by  right  should  have  claimed  you, 

And  that's  the  aforesaid  gentleman's  brother. 

LINKS    FOR    A    SCHOOL- GIRL'S    AUTOGRAPH 
ALBUM. 

Dear  girl,  this  book  I  can  not  brook  ! 
What  !  write  you  something  comic  ? 
Nay,  writing  much  of  that,  and  such, 
Doth  give  a  man  the  thumb-ache  : 
'Tis  worse  than  all  that  school-girl's  scrawl, 
\Yhich  overturns  the  stomache. 

TO    MR.    LINK. 

When  Link  was  masked  in  dress,  I  wis, 
He  seemed  a  real  linking  miss  ; 
But  since  he's  got  his  pants,  we  think, 
He  seems  a  real  missing  link. 


1 8  THE    FINAL    LEAF. 

TO   WYOMING. 

O,  many  a  rustic  bard  has  sung 
Thy  praises,  fair  Wyoming  vale  ! 

But  the  sweet  accents  of  each  tongue 
Scarce  flew  beyond  his  native  dale, 

And  when  his  last  breath  died  away, 

His  songs  all  perished  with  his  clay. 

vSo  fares  each  bard  ;  e'en  as  a  flower 
Whose  death  fast  follows  on  its  bloom  ; 

He  breathes  a  sweetness  to  his  bower, 
Then  with  that  sweetness  fades  in  gloom 

And  though  Wyoming  be  his  theme, 

Even  thou,  Wyoming,  still  dost  dream. 

Yet  now  and  then  thy  slumber  breaks, 
When  stranger  bards  bid  thee  rejoice  ; 

In  Campbell's  Gertrude  wild  awakes 
Thy  loveliness  to  Fancy's  voice  ; 

And  Halleck,  too,  has  breathed  thy  name, 

And  sung  thy  praise  in  words  of  flame. 

O,  that  some  minstrel  son  of  thine 

Could  wake  thy  children  from  their  sleep, 

And  tell  them  how  thy  glories  shine, 

That  they  might  praise  or,  failing,  weep  ! 

Then  blest  were  I,  though  my  faint  songs 

Should  perish  'mid  the  rapturous  throngs. 

THE   FINAL   LEAF, 
ox  DR.  HOLMES'   "  LAST  LEAF." 

He  wandered  far  and  near  ; 
For  many  a  long  year 

He  was  gone  ; 
But  now  he  has  returned, 
With  wrinkled  face  all  burned 

By  the  sun. 


THE    FINAL    LEAF.  19 

His  catie  is  in  his  hand — 
Poor  man,  he  could  not  stand 

But  for  that  ! 
It  aids  his  feeble  bones 
As  his  footsteps  knock  the  stones 

Pit-a-pat. 

Now  everybody  says 
That  in  his  younger  days, 

Long  ago, 

Each  pretty  smiling  lass 
Would  whisper  as  he'd  pass, 

"  That's  my  beau  !  " 
Hut  now  he  slowly  walks, 
And  scarcely  ever  talks, 

He's  so  worn  ; 
While  at  his  yellow  pants 
He  casts  a  vacant  glance, 

So  forlorn. 

For  those  he  loved  so  dear 
He  grieves  with  sigh  and  tear 

And  a  moan. 

Upon  each  mouldering  mound, 
On  top,  and  all  around, 

Moss  is  grown. 
The  lonely  willows  sigh 
As  walks  he  thoughtful  by 

Kach  little  hill  ; 
They  sigh,  and  gently  weep 
Above  his  friends  that  sleep 

There  so  still. 
I've  often  heard  it  told 
That  this  man,  now  so  old, 

When  quite  young, 
Was  blest  with  beauties  great, 
With  well-shaped  face  and  pate, 

And  loose  tongue. 


20  NESHANNOCK  LEGEXD. 

But  now,  his  features  grim, 
Make  a  scarecrow  out  of  him, 

Tall  and  spare, 
With  crooked  nose,  and  back 
As  if  a  peddler's  pack 

Rested  there. 
I  know  it  is  quite  wrong 
For  me  to  stand  so  long 

Eyeing  him  ; 
But  that  old  coat  of  blue, 
And  hat  with  corners,  too, 

Look  so  prim. 

And  if  I  should  live  in  grief, 
To  be  a  Final  Leaf 

In  the  fall, 

Let  people  wink  and  scoff, 
And  laugh  as  I  now  laugh  ; 

I've  earned  it  all. 

TO   FRANK   MARTIN. 
As  I  was  at  the  gate  one  day, 

And  just  about  to  start-in, — 
Pardon  me,  decent  folks,  I  pray, 

But,  oh  !  I  met  Frank  Martin  ! 

NESHANNOCK   LEGEND. 

(The    Neshannock    is   a  small   stream   which    runs   through   Newcastle  city,    in 
Western    Pennsylvania.) 

O,  few  were  the  dwellings  where  Newcastle  stands, 
And  few  were  the  tillers  that  break  the  wide  lands, 
But  Neshannock  sped  on,  as  it  speeds  on  to-day, 
Now  sighing  and  sad,  now  heedless  and  gay. 
It  sighs  for  the  deed  which  discolored  its  sands, 
Where  now  by  the  Mill  street  bridge  it  is  spanned  ; 
And  'tis  heedless  and  gay  when  afar  from  the  site, 
Where  that  Mill  street  horror  affrighted  the  night. 


NESHANNOCK  LEGEXD.  21 

'Twas  midnight  in  June,  and  the  nioon  shone  as  mild 
As  ever  she  shone  in  her  mildness  before, 

When  a  maiden  appeared,  O,  'twas  Eve's  fairest  child  ! 
So  lovely  she  seemed  on  Xeshannock's  calm  shore. 

She  smiled  to  the  wavelets,  that  smile  they  returned  ; 

She  sighed  to  the  zephyr,  it  gave  back  a  sigh  ; 
She  glanced  at  the  starlight,  and  brighter  it  burned, 

And  blent  with  the  lovelight  which  blazed  in  her  eye. 

\Vliy  looks  she  so  oft  at  the  hillock  beyond, 

Where  towers  that  mansion,  all  dark  and  alone? 

Her  parents  are  there,  unsuspecting  and  fond  ; 

They  slumber,  nor  dream  that  their  dear  one  has  flown. 

She  has  flown,  she  has  flown,  and  a  minute  or  two 
May  place  her  loved  plow-boy  for  aye  at  her  side  ; 

Then  adieu  to  her  parents,  a  lasting  adieu, 
For  her  path  is  to  be  on  the  billowy  tide. 

A  footstep  now  starts  her,  she  turns  her  fair  head  ; 

In  a  moment  her  welcoming  smile  flits  away  ; 
The  sound  has  deceived  her,  for  strange  is  the  tread, 

And  that  cloak  and  that  hat  but  renew7  her  dismay. 

The  stranger  draws  near,  and,  with  low,  muffled  voice, 
Says,  "My  sweet  one,  choose  me,   for  thy  lover  now 
dreams." 

"  Back,  back  !  "  shouted  she  ;  "  rather  death  for  a  choice!" 
See,  his  cloak  moves  aside,  and  a  dagger  there  gleams  ! 

"  Come,  swear  thou  art  mine  !  "  he  commands,  as  he  clasps 

Her  arm  in  a  gentle,  yet  menacing  air. 
Like  a  flash,  from  his  girdle  the  dagger  she  grasps, 

And  pierces  his  breast.     Lo,  he  falls  in  despair  ! 

"  Ah,  my  loved  one  !  "  he  moans,  "  how  accursed  was  the 

jest  !  " 

She  shrieked,  while  her  brain  with  new  frenzy  wras  fired, 
'Tis  my  lover  !  O  God  !  "  Then  she  fell  on  his  breast, 
And  sighed  with  her  slain,  and,  both  sighing,  expired. 


22  TO    CLEMATIS. 

Fair  Neshannock  sighed  too,  and  still  does  she  prate 
In  sighs  as  she  kisses  the  spot  where  they  died  ; 

But  their  friends  never  learned  how  they  met  their  sad  fate, 
For  they  knew  not  the  language  the  prating  stream 
sighed. 

And  up  to  this  day  the  intent  passer-by 
May  hear  in  Neshannock' s  low  murmuring  sigh 
The  tale  that  I've  told,  with  the  sad  melody, 
Just  as  Neshannock  rehearsed  it  to  me. 

TO   CLEMATIS. 

'Tis  bliss  to  me.  Clematis,  dear, 

Yea,  double  bliss,  that  thou  art  near  ; 

That  thou  art  near,  and  ieel'st  the  thrill 

Of  all  my  love.      More  blissful  still 

Am  I  that  thy  fond  heart  returns 

The  flame  with  which  my  bosom  burns  ; 

For  rare  it  is  to  meet  a  soul 

Which  gives  back  all  the  love  it  stole  ; 

And  rare  it  is  to  find  a  breast 

Which  makes  a  loving  bosom  blest ; 

And  rare,  O  rare  it  is  to  find 

Two  loves  that  have,  like  ours,  entwined. 

Then  doubly  blest  am  I  by  thee  ; 

I  cling  to  thee,  and  thou  to  me. 

Happy  the  hearts  that  link  their  powers 

In  such  a  flawless  chain  as  ours. 

How  sweet  !  how  sweet !     But  O,  my  friend, 
Can  this  last  ?  will  it  never  end  ? 
Ah  !  I  have  often  loved  before 
With  such  a  love  as  I  love  thee  ; 
But  soon,  too  soon  away  \vas  tore 
The  heart  which  was  such  bliss  to  me. 
Some  were  called  off  by  God's  own  grace. 
And  some,  alas,  were  false  !     O  base, 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL-BELL.     23 

O  base  the  wretch  that  plays  the  part 
Of  trifling  with  another's  heart  ! 
But  O,  Clematis,  true  as  steel, 
The  source  of  all  my  present  weal, 
Think  not,  think  not,  I  deem  thee  so  ! 
No,  no  !  Let  such  thoughts  hell-ward  go  ! 
Enough,  that  thou  art  true  to  me  ; 
Enough,  that  I'm  so  blessed  to  be 
With  all  rnv  soul  a  friend  to  thee. 


THE  vSOXG  OE  THE   OLD   SCHOOL-BELL. 

'Mid  memory's  fondest  voices 

That  sound  in  my  revery, 
There  is  one  that  has  cheered  1113-  boyhood, 

And  whose  echoes  still  live  in  me. 
'Tis  the  voice  of  the  bell  that  boldly 

Swung  over  the  school-house  door, 
Calling  the  children  to  duty — 

To  the  path  of  virtue  and  lore. 
Hour  after  hour  it  called  them, 

Singing,  "  Ding-dong,  ding-dong! 
To  duty,  to  duty,  my  children  ! 

Let  duty  be  ever  your  song  !  " 

How  often  I've  heard,  how  often 

I've  laughed  at  that  dear  old  bell, 
As  its  notes  in  their  glad,  wild  clearness 

So  merrily  rose  and  fell  ; 
As  its  ponderous  tongue,  regardless 

Of  making  a  friend  or  foe, 
vSpake  out  in  its  fearless  accents, 

Unvarying  to  and  fro. 
With  music  the  same  as  ever, 

"  To  duty,  to  duty  !  ''  it  sang  ; 
;'  To  duty,  to  duty,  my  children  !  " 

Thus  hour  after  hour  it  rang. 


24  THE    LOVER'S   LAM  EXT. 

With  joy  I  retrace  my  pathway 

Through  memory's  mazy  realm, 
Where  many  glad  greetings  await  me, 

My  spirit  to  overwhelm  ; 
I  revisit  the  fond  old  school-house, 

I  hear  the  same  music  swell, 
And  I  talk  with  the  gray-haired  bell- man 

Who  faithfully  rings  the  bell, 
And  the  song  is  the  same  as  ever  ; 

"  To  duty,  to  duty  !  "  it  sings; 
"  From  duty  well  done  in  the  present 

All  future  achievement  springs  ! ' ' 

THE   LOVER'S   LAMENT. 

I  tune  my  harp  'neath  the  willows  at  eve  ; 

I  tune  it  to  sigh  and  deplore  ; 
For  alas,  alas,  it  is  mine  to  grieve 

O'er  a  bliss  that  is  mine  no  more  ! 
A  maiden  I  loved — O,  how  madly  I  loved  her  ! 

And  her  charms  the  more  radiant  beamed 
When  I  sung  of  my  love,  and,  in  singing,  so  moved  her 

Then  her  looks — what  a  Heaven  they  seemed  ! 
She  smiled  her  bright  smiles  which  melted  my  soul, 
And  I  away  from  myself  was  stole, 

And  I  breathed  like  a  spirit  that  dreamed. 
She  told  me  her  heart  felt  the  deepest  of  love, 

And  her  voice,  all  music,  was  such, 
It  seemed  to  gush  from  some  lute  above, 

Awaked  by  an  angel's  touch. 
But  brief,  alas,  too  brief  was  my  Heaven  ! 

My  bliss  all  dissolved  like  a  dream. 
Her  "  deepest  of  love  "  to  another  was  given  ; 

Then  her  looks,  \vhat  a  hell  did  they  seem  ! 
And  now  in  my  sadness  this  true  harp  of  mine 
I  tune  'neath  the  wyillows  at  twilight,  to  pine 

And  to  sigh  forth  my  plaintive  theme. 


LOVE   AN/)   FANCY.  25 

LOVE   AND    FANCY. 

June's  stilly  twilight,  hazy  pale, 

Dropped  o'er  the  scenery  of  the  vale, 

Thick' ning  the  shadows  of  the  grove. 

There  strayed  that  wondrous  spirit,  Love, 

A  princely  youth  in  gay  attire, 

Rapt  'mid  the  echoes  of  his  lyre  ; 

And  as  he  stepped  his  feet  kept  time 

In  magic  language  to  the  chime, 

While  his  rich  voice,  now  low,  now  high, 

Carolled  voluptuous  melody, 

And  at  brief  intervals  the  while 

Deep  grew  his  sigh  and  bright  his  smile  ; 

And  fondly  he  smiled,  and  fondly  he  sighed, 

He  seemed  delight  personified. 

And  lo,  as  he  at  rapture's  height 

In  sweet  enchantment  strayed, 
Sudden  appeared  fair  Fancy's  sprite — 

A  smiling,  blushing  maid. 
Then  paused  the  youth  ;  entranced  he  stood, 
While  o'er  his  cheek  and  brow  a  flood 

Of  crimson  took  its  way. 
The  maiden,  smiling,  blushing  still, 
Shot  with  her  glance  such  magic  thrill, 

She  held  him  in  her  sway. 

But  Love,  recovering  from  the  spell, 
Felt  joy  his  lips  refused  to  tell — 

A  joy  known  but  to  such  a  sprite. 
Abashed,  yet  eager,  then  he  grasped 
The  maid,  and  to  his  bosom  clasped 

Her  form,  so  frail  and  slight, 
And  in  one  breath,  one  sigh,  one  kiss, 
She  promised  to  be  ever  his  ; 

Like  Heaven  was  their  delight. 


26  FRIENDSHIP'S    TONE    A\TD    LAUGH. 

Satiate  with  their  ecstatic  embrace, 
Together  they  left  that  enchanted  place, 
And  love,  nigh  inebriate  with  delight, 
Still  pressed  to  his  side  that  lovely  sprite 
While  on  one  arm  enrapt  she  clung, 
And  on  the  other  his  wild  lyre  swung. 
And  ever  since  thus,  side  by  side, 
In  youth  and  loveliness  they  glide  : 
Two  sprites  were  they  in  time  long  gone, 
But  Love  and  Fancy  now  are  one. 

FRIENDSHIP'S    TONE   AND   LAUGH. 

Though  the  bard  wakes  the  string  of  old   friendship  so 
much, 

And  sings  of  the  banqueting  board, 
Yet  how  can  I  help  but  to  give  it  a  touch 

When  my  fingers  are  now  on  that  chord. 
When  the  voice  of  old  years  echoes  still  in  my  ears, 

And  my  heart  echoes  back  a  response, 
And  my  carol  the  tone  of  new  friendship  endears 

As  it  laughs  out  its  music  at  once. 

Blest,  blest  are  the  ears  that  quaff 
Sweet  Friendship's  Tone  and  Laugh  ! 
What  a  thrilling  ring  !     O  who  would  not  sing 
Of  Friendship's  Tone  and  Laugh  ! 

Alas,  for  the  breast  that  is  barren  of  this, 

A  gift  which  was  hallowed  above  ! 
For  they  say  that,  of  old,  'twas  an  Angel's  kiss, 

And  it  came  in  the  form  of  a  dove  : 
And  believe  it,  sweet  friend,  I  know  it  still  lives, 

For  I  hear  its  fond  music  in  thee  ; 
In  thy  bosom  it  lives,  and  each  note  that  it  gives 

Awakens  an  echo  in  me. 

Blest,  blest  are  the  ears  that  quaff,  etc.,  etc. 


CAMPBELL'S   LEAP.  2^ 

O  sweet  the  emotion  that  old  friends  awake 

When  they  meet  in  the  real  old  style  ; 
When  they  give  to  the  hand  a  warm  shake  for  a  shake, 

And  give  a  fond  smile  for  a  smile  ; 
And  when  they  are  met,  and  the  banquet  is  set, 

And  the  cups  around  are  given, 
And  the  cheek  with  a  hallowed  remembrance  is  wet, 

Oh  what  shall  I  call  it  but  Heaven  ! 

Blest,  blest  are  the  ears  that  quaff,  etc.,  etc. 
CAMPBELL'S    LEAP. 

A    DECLAMATION. 

On  Campbell's  Ledge,  at  early  morn, 
Rang  out  a  hunter's  echoing  horn, 
While  hoof  of  steed  and  hoof  of  roe 
Gave  voices  to  the  glen  below, 
Till  every  rock  and  hill  around 
Flung  many  an  answer  to  the  sound. 

But  hark  !  the  notes  no  longer  fly, 
Their  echoes  on  the  distance  die, 
Sighing  their  last  without  reply. 

Fierce  frowns  the  mount,  in  all  its  pride  ; 
Lo,  halfway  up  its  rugged  side, 
Behold,  dismounting  from  his  horse 
And  bending  o'er  a  deer's  red  corse, 
Campbell,  the  huntsman  of  the  dale, 
Bold  Campbell  of  Wyoming  vale. 

There  silent  stands  his  charger  fleet, 
Whose  rounded  form  and  slender  feet 

Tell  of  his  value  true. 
While  bends  the  huntsman  o'er  the  roe, 
And  marks  how  sure  has  been  his  bow, 

He  hears  a  wild  halloo. 


28  CAMPBELL'S   LEAP. 

Springing  erect,  his  quick  eye  spied 
Fast  clambering  up  the  mountain  side 

An  Indian  swarm,  a  demon  band. 
Rapid  he  glanced  from  left  to  right, 
Seeking  in  vain  a  course  for  flight ; 

'Twas  death  to  move,  'twas  death  to  stand. 

One  moment  stood  he  motionless, 
As  if  in  doubt,  as  in  distress, 

And  'reft  of  every  hope  ; 
One  moment  more  his  dark  eye  flashed, 
Into  the  saddle  then  he  dashed 

And  galloped  'gainst  the  slope. 

Up,  up  he  struggles,  up  he  climbs, 
His  foemen  thundering  at  his  heels  ; 

The  footing  crumbles,  and  at  times 

He  thinks  that  death  e'en  now7  he  feels. 

Still  upward,  upward,  on  he  strives  ; 
Sudden  he  hears  the  clash  of  knives, 

And,  glancing  wildly  back, 
At  one  spear's  length  away  he  sees 
Three  of  his  foremost  enemies 

Press  hard  upon  his  track, 
Striving  to  wound  his  noble  horse, 
Striving  to  check  him  in  his  course  ; 

Vain,  vain  is  their  attack. 

With  desperate  thought,  with  desperate  strength, 
Backward  he  darts  ;  and  lo,  at  length, 

He  smites  the  nearest  brave, 
Who,  groaning,  flings  his  arms  on  high  ; 
Pale  grows  his  cheek  and  dim  his  eye, 

While  trembles  in  his  breast  the  glave. 

Yelling  a  death-yell  wild  and  shrill, 

He  grasps  his  friends  in  death's  own  grip  ; 
Impetuous  roll  they  from  the  hill  ; 
Their  comrades  trample  them  until 


CAMPBELL'S   LEAP.  29 

Confusion  reigns  ;  their  own  the}'  kill, 

And  in  each  other's  gore  they  slip. 
Now  Campbell,  with  rekindled  hope, 
More  fiercely  speeds  against  the  slope, 

Urging  his  steed  amain. 
But  O  that  war-whoop,  howl  and  yell 
Too  plainly  show,  too  plainly  tell 

His  foemen  come  again. 
.Still  keeps  he  on  that  deathful  track, 
And  ever  and  anon  looks  back, 

Patting  his  foaming  horse. 
Still  whirl  his  foemen  on  behind  ; 
They  seem  impelled  by  fury's  wind 

And  not  by  human  force. 

And  well,  full  well,  the  huntsman  knows 
Why  such  a  band,  such  demon  foes 

Are  loth  to  hurl  the  lance  ; 
They  crave  him  to  glut  their  fell  desire  ; 
They  crave  him  to  glut  their  hungry  fire 

And  cheer  their  brutal  dance. 

L,o,  now  the  topmost  peak  they  gain  ! 
Xor  draws  the  rider  on  his  rein, 

But  plunges  headlong  still  ; 
While  close  behind  whirl  fierce  the  foe, 
Gaining  at  every  step  they  go, 

Yelling  their  war-whoop  shrill. 
Xow  skims  he  'long  the  rocky  ledge, 
And  boldly  seeks  its  boldest  edge  ; 
And  slumbers  fair  Wyoming's  vale 
Full  many  a  fathom  there  below, 
And  Susquehanna  seems  to  trail 
Like  some  blue  cloud  with  curving  tail. 
Yet  Campbell,  vigorous  and  hale, 

That  dizzy  height  is  scanning  now  ; 
His  eye  is  bright,  his  cheek  is  pale, 

A  purpose  bold  is  on  his  brow. 


30  CAMPBELL'S   LEAP. 

One  moment  breathes  he  in  the  ear 
Of  his  true  steed — one  moment  mere — 
And  lo  that  steed,  nigh  quick  as  thought. 
His  four  slim  feet  together  brought. 

Sudden  a  dozen  warriors  grim 

Dart  at  the  rider  there  : 
Grapple  a  dozen  hands  at  him. 

But  grapple  empty  air  ; 
For  instant  as  the  lightning's  wing 
The  charger,  with  a  wondrous  spring, 

Is  distant  like  a  dart. 
Down,  down  both  horse  and  rider  sweep  ; 
Down,  down  full  many  a  fathom  deep, 

While  sick  shrinks  every  heart. 
Silent  the  Red-men  stare  beneath  : 
Silent  the}T  hold  their  throbbing  breath  ; 
Silent  they  quail  at  such  a  death. 
Still  earthward  man  and  charger  dash  ; 
Resounding  on  the  stream  they  crash, 
While  o'er  them  foams  a  towering  splash. 
They  cut  the  waters  like  a  blade, 

An  instant  dart  from  sight. 

Bold  man,  bold  beast  of  might — 
Bold  man,  bold  beast,  so  undismayed — 
That  was  the  grandest  leap  e'er  made 

By  Red-man  or  by  White  ! 
But  see,  O  see  the  river's  brim, 

Where  plays  the  bubbling  tide  ! 
A  horse  and  rider  struggling  swim 

To  gain  the  further  side. 
And  now  they  reach  the  verdant  shore  ; 

Bold  Campbell  smiles  again. 
Fondles  his  charger  o'er  and  o'er. 

Stroking  his  silky  mane. 
He  mounts  the  saddle  as  before 

And  homeward  turns  his  rein. 


ADIEU,    TILL    WE   MEET  AGAIN.  31 

No  man  was  happier,  none  more  gay 

In  all  the  vale  for  many  a  day, 

As  told  and  retold  he  the  tale 

To  trembling  wife  and  children  pale. 

Wyoming  cried,  with  lips  aflame, 

"  Would  ye  extol  bold  Campbell's  fame  ? 

Give  to  the  ledge  bold  Campbell's  name." 

ADIEU,    TILL  WE   MEET   AGAIN. 

TO    ANNA. 

O  love  !  yon  rosebud  late  kissed  by  the  dews 

Transcendant  in  beauty  seems  ; 
But  O,  thy  cheeks,  as  thy  teardrops  suffuse, 

Far  richer  in  loveliness  beams. 
That  snow  white  arm,  and  that  snow  white  hand, 

Such  ej'es,  and  such  glances,  too  ! 
Forgive  me,  but  O,  as  you  weeping  stand, 
My  soul  is  tempted  beyond  command, 
To  repeat  that  fond  adieu. 
Then  adieu,  adieu  !  my  love,  adieu  ! 

Let  thy  bosom  be  free  from  pain  ; 
For,  when  distant  I  rove,  I'll  be  true  to  my  love  ; 

Adieu,  till  we  meet  again  ! 
The  song  of  yon  oriole,  O,  1113-  love  ! 

Seems  matchless,  so  rich  and  clear  ; 
But  O,  thy  words  are  like  notes  from  above, 

And  not  like  the  sounds  from  our  sphere. 
'Tis  heaven  to  feel  thine  enchanting  sways, 

As  thy  hair  like  the  sunbeam  flows, 
And  thy  snowy  neck  gleams  through  that  ringlet  maze, 
And  thy  blue  eyes  beam  forth  such  a  wishful  gaze, 
And  thy  cheek  with  love's  ardor  glows  : 
Then  adieu,  adieu  !  my  love,  adieu  ! 

vStill  my  hopes  all  with  thee  remain  ; 
And  though  distant  I  rove,  I  shall  think  of  my  love  ; 

Adieu,  till  we  meet  again  ! 


32         O   SWEET   THE   DREAM   OF  BYGONE   DAYS. 

O   SWEET   THE   DREAM   OF   BYGONE   DAYS. 

STANZAS    FOR    MUSIC. 

O  sweet  the  dream  of  bygone  days, 

When,  with  a  fond  regret, 
The  soul  looks  back  through  memory's  maze 

To  scenes  bright  even  yet ; 
Bright  even  to  the  hoary  head 

Long  since  bowed  low  in  grief  ; 
But  oft  'niid  thoughts  of  pleasures  fled 

The  lorn  soul  finds  relief. 

O  sweet  the  dream  of  bygone  days, 

Of  hearts  that  loving  met  ; 
Such  joy,  such  love,  such  magic  sways, 

Ah  !  can  I  e'er  forget  ? 

Fond,  fond  the  thoughts  of  early  joy, 

Of  youth's  intense  delight, 
The  blushing  girl,  the  laughing  boy, 

Their  faces  radiant  bright, 
The  full  eyes  beaming  forth  the  soul, 

The  breasts  that  wildly  loved, 
The  smile  that  played,  the  glance  that  stole, 

Which  matrons  would  reprove. 

O  sweet  the  dream,  etc.,  etc. 

O  sweet  the  dream  of  past  delight, 

When  youths  roamed  o'er  the  green, 
And  lovers  gave  their  fond,  fond  plight 

In  nook  and  bower  serene. 
Like  roses  blushing  in  the  sun 

Those  scenes  did  then  invite  me  ; 
Like  scents  of  roses  that  are  gone, 

Now  thoughts  of  them  delight  me. 

O  sweet  the  dream,  etc.,  etc. 


MIDNIGHT    VISIONS.  33 

vSOXG   OF   PARTING   COMPANIONS. 

O  comrades,  fond  and  true, 
Come  let  me  drink  to  you  ; 
Perhaps  that  day  is  far  away 

When  we  may  pledge  anew  ; 
Then  let  us  quaff  with  merry  laugh, 

And  merry  hand-shake,  too. 

When  we  are  wide  apart, 
Still  hold  we  in  our  heart 
The  fond  farewell  our  lips  now  tell, 

Our  friendship,  free  of  art ; 
When  memories  trace  each  friendly  face, 

Check  not  the  tears  that  start. 

0  comrades,  fond  and  true, 
Come  let  me  drink  to  you  ; 

Yea,  pledge  we  here,  with  smile  and  tear, 

And  hearty  hand-shake,  too. 
And  now  be  heard  that  sighful  word, 

Adieu,  a  long  adieu. 

MIDNIGHT  VISIONS. 

The  midnight  moments  creep  ; 

Fond  visions  rise  before  me, 
And,  as  I  long  to  sleep, 

Thrill  after  thrill  steals  o'er  me  ; 

1  see  the  friends  that  memory  sends, 
I  gaze  upon  their  faces, 

And  lo,  my  love  !  now  blest  above, 

Awaits  my  warm  embraces. 
The  midnight  moments  creep  ; 

The  vision  smiles  before  me  ; 
I  can  not,  can  not  sleep, 

A  joyful  thrill  steals  o'er  me. 


TO   AXXA. 

How  rare  those  eyes  of  blue  ! 

Those  flowing  golden  tresses  ! 
How  sweet  the  kisses  too  ! 

How  tender  the  caresses  ! 

0  when  she  wept  for  joy,  then  slept 
Upon  my  heaving  bosom, 

1  watched  her  keep  that  placid  sleep, 

Breathing  like  some  fair  blossom. 
The  golden  moments  sweep  : 

The  vision  glows  before  me  : 
I  will  not,  will  not  sleep  : 

A  blissful  thrill  steals  o'er  me. 

The  joyful  moments  sweep, 

And  forms  of  those  that  love  me, 
With  smiles,  delay  my  sleep, 

One  hovers  close  above  me. 
O  that  my  love,  now  blest  above. 

Could  dart  to  me  this  even. 
With  fond  caress  my  lips  to  bless  ! 

I'd  crave  no  more  from  Heaven. 
The  solemn  moments  creep, 

The  phantom  flits  before  me. 
And  as  I  fain  would  sleep, 

A  saddening  thrill  steals  o'er  me. 

TO   AXXA. 

O  Anna,  fond  Anna,  recall  you  the  pain 
Of  our  parting,  when  bitter  you  wept, 

When  vowed  I  devotion  till  met  \ve  again  ? 
O  that  vow,  that  sweet  promise,  I've  kept  ! 

Kind  hearts  have  I  met,  on  my  wandering  way 
And  I've  basked  in  the  smiles  of  the  fair  ; 

But  believe  me,  my  Anna,  I  could  not  be  gay, 
For  no  Anna,  no  Anna  was  there. 


ANNA.  35 

But  now  I'm  restored  to  the  star  of  my  dream, 

To  leave  thee,  to  leave  thee  no  more  ; 
Again  let  thy  sunny  smiles  over  me  beam ; 

Come  smile,  Anna,  smile  as  of  yore. 

O  now  am  I  blest,  for  my  star  is  afire 
With  a  flame  from  a  heavenlier  sphere  ; 

How  exquisite  !  but  ah,  it  will  some  time  expire  ! 
My  bliss  will  be  transient  I  fear  ! 

But  here's  to  my  Anna,  the  pride  of  her  dale, 

Whatever  betide  her  and  me  ; 
O,  if  these  were  the  last  drops  of  wine  in  our  vale, 

I  would  quaff  them,  sweet  Anna,  to  thee  ! 

ANNA. 

Long  years  have  passed  since  Anna, 

My  bride,  my  lovely  Fay, 
Gave  me  her  hand  forever — 

All  joyful  was  that  day. 
O  how  we  loved  each  other  ! 

Our  love  was  more  than  love  ; 
We  loved  with  such  an  ardor 

As  angels  might  above. 
When  oft  I  sighed  all  trembling, 

"  ()  love,  wyert  thou  to  die, 
How  could  I  breathe  without  thee," 

She'd  answer  with  a  sigh, 
'  Then  let  these  words  of  Anna 

Console  thee  to  thy  fate  : 
Take  heart,  take  heart,  she  waits  thee 

Within  the  golden  gate. ' ' 

Long  years  have  passed  since  Anna, 
My  bride,  my  lovely  Fay, 

Drooped  like  a  broken  lily- 
All  woeful  was  that  day  ! 


36       THEY  SAY  THAT  THE  FAIRIES  I/ATE   POWER. 

I  watched  her  as  she  suffered, 

A  flush  was  on  her  cheek, 
I  saw  her  eyes  grow  dimmer, 

I  heard  her  voice  grow  weak ; 
Then  left  her  cheek  the  rosebud, 

The  lovelight  left  her  eye  ; 
Then  fled  her  smiles — O,  heaven  ! 

I  saw  my  Anna  die  ! 
Yet  though  my  fate  be  bitter, 

These  words  my  soul  elate  : 
' '  Take  heart,  take  heart,  she  waits  thee 

Within  the  golden  gate." 

THEY  SAY  THAT  THE  FAIRIES  HAVE  POWER. 

TO   ANNA. 

They  say  that  the  fairies  have  power 

To  do  the  most  marvelous  things — 
Change  a  babe  or  a  maid  to  a  flower, 

Or  give  them  invisible  wings. 

And  the  fairies  are  lovers  of  graces, 

For  they  have  been  angels  of  yore  ; 
So  they  choose  but  the  loveliest  faces 

To  enflower  or  wing  evermore. 

O  thou  wert  so  lovely,  my  Anna, 

I  can  not  believe  thou  hast  died, 
But  that  fairies  from  old  Lackawanna 

Have  taken  thee  there  to  reside. 

Still  I  know  they've  not  given  thee  wings,  love, 

For  then  thou  would'st  surely  be  here  ; 
But  I  can  not  conceive  the  strange  things,  love  ! 

To  what  rose  could  they  change  one  so  dear? 
I'll  away  to  the  old  lyackawanna, 

Where  fairest  the  roses  are  now  ; 
And  the  loveliest  flower,  sweet  Anna, 

I'll  seek,  for  I  know  'twill  be  thou  ! 


FR1E  NDSHIP '  S   CHA  L  \ '. 


37 


FRIENDSHIP'S    CHAIN. 

SUNG    AT    A    BANQUET    HELD    BY     PARTING    CLASSMATES. 

Ah,  little  thought  we,  when  at  first 

\Ye  met  as  strangers,  face  to  face, 
That  friendship's  chain,  in  time,  might  burst 

With  parting  sigh,  with  last  embrace. 
With  sigh  and  'with  embrace  may  part 

That  chain  whose  links  now  round  us  wind  ; 
But  dead  the  soul  and  dead  the  heart, 

That  such  links  can  not  always  bind. 

CHORUS : 
What  heart  shall  not  a  rapture  feel, 

What  breast  shall  not  know  sweet  regret, 
When  school-day  memories  o'er  them  steel  ? 

Such  time,  such  joy,  can  we  forget  ? 

Can  we  forget  or  (  ease  to  think 

Of  all,  of  each  with  whom  we've  played  ? 
Has  friendship's  chain  so  slight  a  link 

That  distance  cuts  it  with  her  blade  ? 
Xo,  no  !   Dame  Nature  kind  has  cast 

For  us  a  chain  which  ever  wrinds  ; 
So  presence  holds  us  firm  and  fast, 

And  absence  but  more  closely  binds. 

Clio. — What  heart  shall  not  a  rapture  feel,  etc.,  etc. 

Can  we  forget  this  happy  time, 

Each  happy  voice  we  hear  to-night  ? 
Ah,  to  the  one  who  sings  this  rhyme, 

Mere  thoughts  of  them  will  be  delight. 
Then  give  the  toast ;  let  each  one  drink, 

E'en  though  the  cup  be  not  of  red  : 
O  never  may  old  friendship's  link 

Desert  our  hearts,  benumbed  and  dead  ! 

CHO. — What  heart  shall  not  a  rapture  feel,  etc.,  etc. 


38  SO  JVC    TO    THE   BUTTERCUP. 

TO   CLEMATIS, 

OX    HIS    THIRTEENTH    BIRTHDAY. 

Clematis,  e'en  though  we  are  severed  afar, 

And  'twere  idle  to  wish  thou  wert  here, 
Yet  my  thoughts,  like  the  rays  from  a  distant  star, 

May  reach  thee  and  make  thee  seem  near. 
When  thou  know'st  my  thoughts,  when  thou  feel'st  their 
thrill, 

If  such  there  be  in  my  rhyme, 
Thou  wilt  know  that  an  absent  heart  loves  thee  still, 

And  blesses  thy  birthday  time. 

I  miss  thy  bright  smile  and  thy  sigh  so  fond, 

And  I  miss  thy  fond  words,  fonder  still, 
Touched  into  flame  by  some  fairy  wand  ; 

That  wand,  call  it  love  if  you  will. 
Yet,  love,  can  it  be  ?     Did  I  say,  call  it  love  ? 

Yes,  such  is  the  music  I  said  ; 
For  love  is  a  note  sung  by  angels  above, 

And  the  soul  that  ne'er  heeds  it  is  dead. 
Now  send,  I  pray,  ere  thy  birthday  glides  1)}-, 

A  fond  wish,  a  fond  sigh  to  me  : 
For  I  this  day  send  many  a  sigh 

And  many  a  wish  to  thee. 
Clematis,  Clematis,  my  buxom  lad, 

Laugh,  laugh  thy  loudest  to-day  ; 
And  to  thee  may  there  never  be  morrow  more  sad, 

And  never  a  morrow  less  gay. 

SONG   TO   THE   BUTTERCUP. 

Sweet  buttercup,  which  gazeth  up 

With  nods  and  smiles  and  golden  brightness, 

There  live  in  me  fond  thoughts  of  thee 

Which  lift  my  heart  to  gladsome  lightness  : 

E'er  bloom  and  flourish  pretty  little  flower  ; 

Live  on  and  smile  in  sunshine  and  in  shower. 


O    WHERE    IS    THE    BLOOM    THAT  BLUSHED.       39 

Thou  art  a  sprite  of  pure  delight, 

For  plant  thou  dost  but  slight  resemble  ; 
Thy  petals  show  a  heavenly  glow 

When  wind  and  sunbeam  make  thee  tremble  ; 
O  bloom  and  brighten,  gladden  every  hour  ; 
Yea,  gaily  smile  in  sunshine  and  in  shower. 
How  oft  I  took  thee  near  the  brook  ! 

It  gave  me  joy  no  words  could  utter 
To  have  thee  shine  beneath  my  chin, 

And  tell  ray  mates  if  liked  I  butter  : 
vStill  bloom  and  charm  the  schoolboy  in  his  bower  ; 
Still  fondly  smile  in  sunshine  and  in  shower. 

Thy  tiny  face  with  look  of  grace 

Invites  the  children's  lips  to  kiss  thee  ; 

Let  girl  and  boy  drink  deep  thy  joy, 

For  days  may  come  when  they  shall  miss  thee  ; 

Bloom,  ever  bloom,  thou  pretty  little  flower  ; 

Still  smile  thy  smiles  in  sunshine  and  in  shower. 

O   WHFRE   IS   THE    BLOOM   THAT   BLUSHED. 

TO    GIvYCvlvA. 

O  where  is  the  bloom  that  blushed 

On  thy  cheek,  sweet  Glyccca,  my  own  ? 
And  where  is  the  voice  that  hushed 

My  heart  with  its  magic  of  tone  ? 
And  where  are  the  eyes  that  glanced 

A  rapture  in  every  look  ? 
And  where  are  the  smiles  that  danced, 

And  the  sighs  which  the  zephyrs  took  ? 
All  are  flown  ;  and  the  snow  that  drifts 

Is  their  winding-sheet — too  rude  ; 
They  fled  like  the  rainbow  gifts 

Which  together  in  childhood  we  viewed. 
But  where,  my  Glycsca,  Oh  where 

Art  thou,  my  sweet  day-dream  of  yore  ? 
My  infancy  knew  thee,  too  fair  ; 

But  alas,  I  can  know  thee  no  more  ! 


SOXNET   TO   F.   B. 

I  revisit  our  snow-covered  bowers, 

And  thy  grave  'neath  the  willows  I  find  : 

Thou  hast  faded  away  like  the  flowers 
Which  together  in  childhood  we  twined  ! 

SONNET   TO   THE   OLD   YEAR. 

Farewell  to  thee,  farewell,  departing  year  ; 

In  gloom  I  watch  thy  final  hours  descend, 

And  mourn  thee  as  I  should  a  bosom  friend, 
With  saddened  heart,  with  sigh  and  flowing  tear. 
We  mortals  pause  to  contemplate  in  fear, 
For  O,  our  record  closes  with  thy  end — 
A  record  which  we  never  more  may  mend — 

Deeds,  good  and  evil,  sleep  upon  the  bit-r. 
Farewell  to  thee,  once  more  a  last  farewell — 

Hark  !  art  thou  vanished?     And  for  ever  too  ? 
Ay,  thou  art  flown,  I  hear  thy  funeral  knell  ! 

I've  but  one  thought  and  that's  to  start  anew 
With  spotless  record  and  to  persevere 
In  living  well  through  all  the  glad  new  year. 

SONNET   TO    F.    E. 

O  friend,  'tis  joy  e'en  to  the  mind  depressed 

To  meet  once  more  a  friend's  bright  smiling  face, 

When  hands  grasp  warm,  and  arms  too  interlace, 

And  wildly  glad  the  heart  swells  forth  the  breast. 

When  loving  soul  by  loving  soul  is  blest, 

The  hours  on  wings  of  joy  each  other  chase  : 

'Tis  so  when  schoolboys  meet  in  fond  embrace  : 

Of  happy  times  this  is  the  happiest. 

But  ah,  my  friend,  though  sweet,  'tis  sad  to  think 

So  many  friends  are  ours,  nor  false  is  any  ; 
'Tis  sweet  that  all  these  hearts  with  ours  now  link  : 

'Tis  sad  that  some  day  we  must  lose  so  many  ; 
Yet  laugh  we  on,  while  laugh  our  glad  hearts  may, 
Let  doubt  and  sadness  follow  yesterday. 


GUI. A    AND   LILY  AND    NET.  41 

SONG   OF   CUPID. 

0  fill  up  the  cups  with  a  sparkling  wine, 

And  drink  with  glad  hearts  to  this  music  of  mine  ! 
For  mine  is  the  magic  that  flavors  the  draught, 
And  renders  it  sweeter  than  aught  ever  quaffed  ; 

1  touch  but  a  chord  and  the  notes  fly  in  sweetness, 
And  fill  the  red  goblet  with  odors  exquisite, 
And  lend  to  Time's  wings  a  magical  fleetness, 
And  form  a  new  realm  which  the  soul  may  revisit. 
O  if  there  be  magic  more  wondrous  than  mine, 

Where  is  it  ?     Where  is  it  ? 

O  mine  are  the  songs  that  enchant  the  fair 
With  their  ravishing  charms,  all  their  talents  rare, 
Who,  though  they  be  cold  as  the  dews  of  night, 
Must  melt  at  my  notes  into  Love's  delight. 
And  mine  are  the  lays  that  sustain  the  spirit  ; 
Their  spells  from  the  strength  of  the  airs  they  elicit, 
To  charm  the  red  wine  cup,  that  those  wrho  revere  it 
May  revel  in  ecstasy's  trance  when  they  kiss  it. 
O  if  there  be  magic  more  wondrous  than  mine, 
Where  is  it  ?     Where  is  it  ? 

GU LA   AND   LILY   AND   NET. 

Three  little  children  come  running, 

Gula  and  Lily  and  Net  ; 
On  to  my  knees  they  scramble  ; 

Which  do  you  think  is  my  pet  ? 

Gula,  a  sweet  little  rose-bud, 

Sits  prattling  now  on  my  knee, 
So  free  with  her  smiles  and  her  kisses  ; 

Do  you  think  that  my  choicest  is  she  ? 

My  other  knee  holds  my  fond  Lily, 

Fond  as  that  beautiful  flower, 
And  with  kisses  and  smiles  she  caresses  ; 

Think  you  she  is  my  star  of  the  hour  ? 


42  FATHER    OF    THE    NIGHT  AND    MORN. 

With  her  arms  round  rny  neck  soft  entwining 
Is  Net,  whom  "  Fair  Blossom  "  I  call, 

Just  as  free  with  her  smiles  and  her  kisses  ; 
Think  you  she  is  the  dearest  of  all  ? 

I've  a  rose-bud,  a  lily,  a  blossom, 
Pinned  side  by  side  on  1113-  breast ; 

These  three  are  my  choicest  of  flowers  ; 
Which  is  the  sweetest  and  best  ? 

I  am  loved  by  three  little  children — 

Gula  and  Lily  and  Net — 
And  each  do  I  love  as  dearly, 

And  each  do  I  claim  as  my  pet. 

But  think,  little  girls,  a  few  summers 
May  see  you  to  womanhood  growr, 

And  me  to  a  crust}"  old  bachelor  ; 

Will  your  smiles  to  my  kisses  then  glow  ? 

MINEPHTHAH. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

Of  Egyptian  Minephthah  O  have  ye  not  heard, 
Who,  content  with  the  deeds  he  had  done, 

Full  sudden  expired,  and  flew  off  like  a  bird, 
To  d\vell  in  the  bark  of  the  sun  ! 

FATHER   OF  THE   NIGHT   AND    MORN. 

A    HVMN. 

Father  of  the  night  and  morn, 
From  whose  breath  all  life  is  born, 
Spirit  present  everywhere, 
O  vouchsafe  to  hear  my  prayer  ; 
Hear  a  prayer,  whose  every  word 
Flames  up  from  a  heart  that  erred  ; 
Erred,  ay  erred,  though  it  could  see 
Worlds  lit  by  Thy  deity. 


QUARREL    OF   BRUTUS   AND    CASSIUS. 

I  have  strayed,  a  willful  child, 
():i  life's  path\yay,  bleak  and  wild  ; 
Urged  on  step  by  step  to  tread, 
By  the  hope  of  joy  ahead, 
Heedless  of  Thy  signs  and  wonders 
Shown  in  lightnings  or  in  thunders, 
Till,  o'envhelmed,  I  turned  to  Thee, 
Hailed  Thy  vast  ubiquity. 

Now  repentant  kneel  I  here, 

That  my  sorrow's  moan  and  tear 

Might  secure  me  respite  blest 

From  the  pangs  which  rend  my  breast. 

()  may  He,  who  died  to  save 

Souls  from  death,  may  He  who  gave 

Life  to  dead,  made  blind  men  see, 

Mav  He  grant  some  srace  to  me. 


QUARREL   OF   BRUTUS   AND   CASSIUS. 

A    DIALOGUE    FOR    BOYS. 

-That  thou  hast  wronged  me  is  too  clear, 
For  I  have  paid  the  forfeit  dear  ; 
My  teacher  smacked  me  well. 
Yea,  like  the  dickens  did  he  smack  ! 
Tore  the  suspenders  from  1113-  back — 

The  rest  I  blush  to  tell. 
But  all  this  smacking  borne  by  me, 
False  Brutus,  hath  been  caused  by  thee. 

Bnttns. — Xay,  thou  hast  brought  thyself  the  blame, 
And  now,  sly  Cassius,  bear  the  shame  ; 

And  here  I  tell  thee  true, 
After  the  burning  of  the  spellers, 
I  heard  thee  whisper  'niong  the  fellers  ; 

The  teacher  heard  thee,  too. 


44  QUARREL    OF  BRUTUS  AND    C A  SSI  US. 

Cas. — 'Tis  false,  'tis  false,  thou  Nannygoat ! 
Thou  know'st  thou  liest  in  thy  throat, 

For  thou  didst  me  betray  ! 
And  Brutus,  it  is  not  but  once 
That  thou  hast  proved  thyself  a  dunce, 

And  given  a  trick  away. 

Dm. — What !  I  a  dunce  ?  Hold,  hold  thy  tongue. 
Or,  by  my  troth,  though  I'll  be  hung, 
I'll  teach  thee  what  to  say. 

Cas. — Ha  !  teach  thy  betters  what  to  say  ? 
Learn  first  thyself  from  me,  I  pray, 

But  treason  thou  can'st  teach  : 
Yet  if  again  thou  squeal' st  on  me, 
By  all  that  is  or  e'er  shall  be, 

That  moment  thou  shalt  bleach  ! 

Brit. — Platonian  goose  without  a  feather  ! 
Thou  parrot  with  a  pate  of  leather, 
I  fear  thee  not  one  bit  ! 

Cas. — Thou  bean  of  old  Pythagoras  ! 

Thou  sneak est  like  a  snake  in  grass, 
But  thou  shalt  pay  for  it ! 

Bru. — Thy  threats  in  me  no  terror  find  ! 
They  pass  me  as  the  idle  wind 

Which  buzzes  past  my  brow  : 
Yet,  lack  ad  ay  !  that  I  should  brook 
A  threatening  word  or  threatening  look 

From  such  a  child  as  thou. 
I  say  I'm  thy  superior  ! 

Cas. — Superior  in  treason's  lore. 
And  tell-tale  too,  I  trow. 

Bm. — Ha  !  now  thy  tongue  doth  wag  a  joke, 
With  pointed  dart  and  pointed  poke, 
But's  all  the  same  to  me. 


QUARREL    OF  BRUTUS   AND    CASSIUS.  45 

Cas. — Then,  Brutus,  let  us  make  amends  ; 
Let's  join  our  hands  again  as  friends. 

Bru. — I'll  differ  not  with  thee  ; 

But  here's  my  heart  and  here's  my  hand, 
And  by  each  other  shall  we  stand 
In  fight  or  trickery. 

Cas. — Dost  thou  agree  so  much  indeed  ? 

Full  glad  am  I  such  words  to  heed  ; 

With  joy  my  heart  is  flamed. 
But,  Brutus,  what  caused  us  to  quarrel, 
Like  girls  to  scream,  like  dogs  to  snarl  ? 

For  my  part  I'm  ashamed. 

Brn. — Well,  by  my  troth,  I  scarce  know  what. 
There  was  no  cause,  else  I've  forgot — 
There's  no  one  to  be  blamed. 

Cas. — In  sooth  I  know  not,  but,  methinks, 

'Twas  caused  by  smiles  or  bitter  winks, 
We've  cast  upon  each  other. 

Bri(. — True,  true,  a  likely  cause,  indeed  ! 
A  smile  or  wink  oft  proves  a  seed 
Which  sprouts  a  tree  of  bother. 

Cas. — And  strange  the  time  our  bother  sprung, 
When  school-day  carol  should  be  sung, 
And  dialogues  should  be  rehearsed, 
And  school-time  secrets  should  be  nursed, 
And— 

Brn. — Nay,  hold,  I  pray,  O  Cassius,  hold  ! 

'Tis  passed  ;  our  quarrel's  already  cold. 
Then  pledge  we  friendship  as  of  yore, 
But  this  time  pledge  for  evermore  ; 
Let's  stand  like  brother  by  a  brother, 
Yea,  play  or  fight  beside  each  other. 


46  THE    CHIEFTAIN  A\D    HIS' BARD. 

THE  CHIEFTAIN  AND   HIS  BARD. 

By  Susquehanna  sat  two  Indian  braves, 

Where  hemlocks'  shadow  made  them  darker  still. 

The  one  was  silent,  but  his  eyes,  the  while. 

Flashed  forth  a  language  from  a  soul  afire. 

Those  eyes  it  was,  as  well  as  that  tall  frame 

Of  might  and  grace,  that  crowned  him,  as  he  was. 

The  mightiest  chieftain  of  Wyoming  vale. 

The  other  close  resembled  him  in  form, 
But  wore  a  milder  mien  and  gentler  grace  ; 
His  dark  eyes,  too,  flamed  fire,  but  subtler  fire, 
Which  spake  of  song  and  dream  and  mystery. 

Within  his  hands  was  clasped  an  instrument, 
Of  rude  construction,  but  of  music's  voice, 
Which  followed  up  in  sweetness  his  discourse, 
In  chant,  in  war-hymn,  or  in  prophecy. 
And  now  his  notes  soft  tremble  through  the  air, 
As  thus  before  his  mighty  chief  he  sings  : 

"  O  Talakeena,  time  wras  when  my  voice 
Could  tell  of  joy  and  love  in  merry  strain, 
Stealing  its  tunes  from  bird  and  breeze  and  brook 
But  now.  alas  !  it  takes  its  flight,  half  winged, 
Humming,  perforce,  the  hemlock's  tone  and  tune, 
That  dismal  moaning  of  the  wind  and  burs. 

"E'en  like  the  north  wind  am  I  doomed  to  plain, 
A  restless  spirit,  nowhere  finding  rest  ; 
And  now,  O  Talakeena,  do  not  frown 
If  once  again  I  speak  of  mystery. 

"In  dream  I  heard  the  war-whoop  of  our  tribe  ; 
From  mount  to  distant  mount  it  echoed  wild, 
And  all  Wyoming  rushed  at  once  to  arms. 
Quick  to  the  front  swept  Talakeena  bold, 
Fierce  as  the  east  wind,  when  its  breath  is  sharp  ; 
And  every  brave  saw  vengeance  on  his  brow. 


THE    CHIEFTAIN  AND   HIS  BARD.  47 

"  Lo,  down  fair  Susquehanna  like  a  tempest 
Thundered  amain  a  race  of  strange,  strange  beings, 
White  as  the  north- wind's  fleece,  when  the  wild  waves 
Of  Lackawanna  stiffen  and  are  mute. 

"  Then  clashed  a  conflict,  equalled  ne'er  before. 
The  foemen  met  our  charge  with  mighty  knives, 
Which  clove  our  braves  in  twain  ;  still  hope  was  ours, 
Till  suddenly,  the  big  white  chieftain  placed, 
A  long  pipe  in  his  mouth,  as  if  to  smoke, 
Which  gave  a  scream  like  to  a  wounded  hawk, 
Half  music,  and  half  like  a  brave's  death-yell. 
Then,  like  the  broken  fires  from  the  great  Spirit, 
When  rages  he  in  fury  'gainst  his  children. 
There  hurled  upon  us  flame  and  smoke  and  thunder. 

"  Then  was  it  that  we  quailed  ;  for  well  we  knew 
Our  foemen  held  the  lightnings  in  their  hands, 
And  held  the  thunderbolts,  and  powers  unknown. 

"  Our  tribe  lay  strewn  like  grass  beneath  a  flood, 
And  lo  !  O  now,  great  Manito,  now  comes 
A  scene  more  dire  than  death  itself — O  chief, 

0  Talakeena,  thee  I  saw  alone, 

There  on  the  bloody  hillside,  bleeding,  bleeding, 
Bleeding  from  head  to  foot  through  countless  wounds, 
Still  pressed  at  bay,  e'en  as  a  hunted  stag  ! 

1  shrieked — I  shrieked  !  and  shrieking  I  awoke." 
The  minstrel  ceased  ;  but  ere  his  echoes  died, 
The  chieftain  rising  to  his  feet  began  : 

"  Alkrane,  sweet  singer,  Alkrane,  O  my  bard, 

Grieve  not  for  Talakeena  and  his  braves. 

That  foe  breathes  not,  whom  he  or  they  shall  fear  ; 

For  they  and  he  are  of  Wyoming  birth. 

Our  fathers  died  ;  we  are  our  fathers'  sons  ; 

And  shall  we  not  meet  death  as  bold  as  they  ? 

"  But  if  we  fall,  Wyoming,  fare  thee  well  ! 
Farewell,  ye  mountains,  forests,  and  ye  hills, 


"BREAK,    BREAK,    BREAK!" 

And  L,ackawanna's  wild  and  laughing  stream, 
And  Susquehanna,  Manito's  great  flood, 
Farewell,  farewell,  be  this  our  las',  farewell  ! 
For  O  who  knows  but  that  we  may  be  lost 
Ere  we  can  frame  that  burning  word  again." 

So  spake  great  Talakeena  ;  and  his  breast 

Now  heaved  a  long-drawn  sigh.    He  waved  his  hand 

At  Alkrane  to  arise  ;  then  chief  and  bard 

In  silence  and  in  sadness,  side  by  side, 

Glided  into  the  forest's  deepest  shades. 

"BREAK,   BREAK,   BREAK!" 

SUGGESTED    BY   ALFRED   TENNYSON'S    POEM    OF    THK 
SAME   TITLE. 

O  bright  was  the  blush  of  the  morning, 

And  bright  was  the  smile  on  the  wave, 
But  sad,  ah,  sad  was  the  minstrel, 

And  sad  was  the  song  that  he  gave. 
Alone  on  the  beach  did  he  wander, 

Alone  on  the  beach  strayed  he, 
And  aye  and  anon,  as  the  waves  rolled  on, 

He  gazed  far  over  the  sea. 

Still  the  waves  rolled  on,  and  aye  and  anon. 

As  he  heard  each  new  echo  awake, 
He  sighed,  ah,  he  sighed  in  his  plaintive  lay, — 
"  Roll  on,  roll  on  for  aye  and  for  aye !  " 

And  "  break,  break,  break  !" 

Then  turned  he  his  glance  to  the  rearward, 

To  a  boy  with  his  sister  at  play  ; 
And  thence  to  a  distant  sailor, 

Who  merrily  warbled  his  lay  ; 
Then  sad  and  more  sad  sighed  the  minstrel, 

And  sad  and  more  sad  rose  his  strain, 
Whilst  aye  and  anon,  as  the  waves  rolled  on, 

He  gazed  far  over  the  main. 


THE    GRIEF   OF  AVOCA.  49 

Still  the  waves  rolled  on,   and  aye  and  anon, 

As  he  heard  each  new  echo  awake, 
He  sighed,  ah,  he  sighed  in  his  plaintive  lay, — 
"  Roll  on,  roll  on  for  aye  and  for  aye  !  " 

And  "break,  break,    break  !" 

He  sung  of  a  day  gone  for  ever, 

And  he  wept  as  he  uttered  the  thought  ; 
He  wept,  yes,  he  wept  o'er  an  image 

Deep,  deep  at  his  heart's  .core  wrought  : 
And  he  sung  of  a  voice  that  is  silent, 

Mid  sighs  and  mid  tear-drops  sung  he, 
Whilst  aye  and  anon,  as  the  waves  rolled  on, 

He  gazed  far  over  the  sea. 

Still  the  waves  rolled  on  ;  and  aye  and  anon, 

As  he  heard  each  new  echo  awake, 
He  sighed,  ah,  he  sighed  in  that  plaintive  lay — 
"  Roll  on,  roll  on  for  aye  and  for  aye  !  " 

And  "  break,  break,  break  !  " 

THE   GRIEF   OF   AVOCA. 

()  bright  was  the  smile  by  Avoca  worn, 

Bright  as  the  sun  ot  that  joyful  morn  ; 

And  Avoca' s  own  children  waxed  merry  and  gay 

As  the  moments,  all  golden,  sped  laughing  away  ; 

And  the  words  of  the  brave,  and  the  looks  of  the  fair 

Told  how  the  spirit  of  pleasiire  reigned  there  ; 

But  though  radiant  that  morn  with  its  promises  fond, 

O  \vell  for  Avoca  had  never  it  dawned. 

Away  swept  the  throng,  that  holiday  throng, 

While  their  hearts  were  made  merry  by  laughter  and  song  ; 

Ah,  they  seemed  like  the  bubbles  upon  the  wave, 

Reveling  over  the  brink  of  the  grave, 

Which  glitter  and  glide  in  their  gladsome  excess, 

Till  sudden  they're  dashed  into  nothingness  ; 


50  SPRING   SMILES  AGAIN. 

Or  e'en  like  some  flowers  which  at  morn  are  in  bloom, 
But  at  eventide  wither,  and  sink  in  their  tomb. 
Such,  such,  alas,  O  such  was  the  fate 
Of  the  sons  of  Avoca,  so  desolate. 

That  eventide  spread  her  dark  wings  on  the  gale, 

And  flew,  like  the  angel  of  death,  o'er  the  vale  ; 

O'er  the  vale  of  Avoca  she  flew  in  her  gloom, 

Her  wing  but  a  shroud,  and  her  body  a  tomb  ; 

And  the  autumn  winds  wailed,  and  the  autumn  winds 
groaned, 

While  new  widows  and  orphans  their  loved  ones  be 
moaned  ; 

Still  the  autumn  winds  groaned  and  the  autumn  winds 
wailed, 

While  parents  and  brothers  and  sisters  all  quailed. 

Then  deeply,  alas  !  did  Avoca  deplore  ! 

Then,  then  did  she  weep  as  she  ne'er  wept  before  ! 

And  the  winds  of  the  autumn  still  wail  there  and  moan  ; 

And  Avoca  mourns,  too,  o'er  the  souls  that  are  flown. 

SPRING  SMILES  AGAIN. 

THOUGHTS    OF    ANNA. 

Spring  smiles  again  in  revel  gay, 

Yet,  'neath  that  smile  so  glad, 
I  see  a  death,  a  by-gone  day, 

And  my  heart  grows  lorn  and  sad. 

Again  I  wander  by  the  trees, 

Where,  oft  in  times  gone  by, 
I  heard  love  sighed  in  every  breeze, 

And  I  gave  back  sigh  for  sigh. 

The  lark  sang  love  with  wanton  tongue, 

The  rose-bud  sang  it,  too  ; 
Ah,  me  !   it  seems  that  love  was  sung 

By  every  sound  that  flew. 


SMILES  AGAIN.  51 

A  happy  time,  a  happy  time  ! 

How  blest  each  eventide. 
When  wooed  I  in  a  quaint  love-rhyme 

The  dear  one  at  my  side. 
Then  waxed  her  charms  more  bright,  her  smile 

So  fond,  her  voice  so  fine  ; 
And  what  delight  to  press,  the  while, 

Her  thrilling  hand  in  mine  ! 

Her  silence  spell-bound  music  seemed  ; 

And  when  she  broke  the  spell 
Her  tones  upon  my  heart,  I. deemed, 

L,ike  honeyed  dew-drops  fell. 

But  fleet,  too  fleet  those  evenings  ! 

Each  gave  its  bliss  and  passed 
Away — away  on  fairy  wings — 

Oh  could  it  always  last  ! 

Alas,  we  had  to  part  !     O  heaven, 

That  was  a  trying  minute  ! 
()  why  was  power  to  love  so  given, 

To  have  such  magic  in  it  ? 

I  will  not,  O  I  will  not  paint 

That  scene  ;  for  fast  and  fast 
My  heart  would  throb,  and  failing  paint  ; 

That  parting  was  our  last  ! 

That  parting  was  our  last  ;  and  yet, 

Though  knew  I  that  too  well, 
I  haunted  still  where  we  had  met, 

And  why  I  scarce  could  tell. 

The  lark  sung  love  with  wanton  tongue, 

But  O  the  pain  it  gave  ! 
Of  love  the  breeze  and  rose-bud  sung  ; 

I  heard  them  but  to  rave. 

'Twas  love  that  eveiy  sound  still  sang, 

But  O,  how  changed  was  I  ! 
For  each  note  turned  into  a  pang, 

And  into  a  moan  each  sigh. 


52  TO    CLEMATIS. 

Yet  when  spring  time  died  away, 

And  leafy  June  did  wither, 
Though  all  things  fair  seemed  to  decay, 

Still  strayed  my  footsteps  thither. 

A  joyless  time,  a  joyless  time, 

Had  I  for  months  and  years  ; 
Even  now  at  times  the  quaint  love  rh}Tme 

Still  echoes  in  my  ears. 

And  when  fair  spring  is  reveling  gay 

Beneath  her  smile  so  glad, 
I  see  a  death,  a  by-gone  day, 

And  my  heart  grows  lorn  and  sad. 

TO  CLEMATIS. 

Clematis,  Clematis,  my  song  is  to  thee  ! 

To  Clematis  I  sing,  and  my  heart  sings  to  me, 

And  none  but  Clematis  sighs  love  to  me  now, 

And  none  has  such  sighs,  my  Clematis,  as  thou. 

'Tis  Clematis  that  cheers  me  when  deep  I  despond  ; 

'Tis  Clematis  that  smiles  me  to  happiness  fond  ; 

'Tis  he  that  loves  true,  and  'tis  he  that  loves  free  ; 

O,  'tis  he  and  his  love  that  are  ever  with  me. 

Clematis,  Clematis,  my  song  is  to  thee  ! 

To  Clematis  I  sing,  and  my  heart  sings  to  me. 

How  oft  have  I  asked,  "  Is  there  under  the  sun 
One  heart  that  is  constant — aye,  is  there  e'en  one 
Which  in  friendship  or  love  can  be  true  to  the  last  ?  ' 
Nay,  hold,  my  dear  boy  !  do  not  redden  so  fast  ! 
For  when  I  met  thee  all  my  doubts  were  o'erthro\vn, 
And  my  confidence  poured  just  as  free  as  thine  own 
And  were  I  to  tell  what  bliss  gladdens  my  brow, 
I  should  say,  my  Clematis,  that  blessing  is  thou. 
Clematis,  Clematis,  my  song  is  to  thee  ; 
To  Clematis  I  sing,  and  my  heart  sings  to  me. 


TO    CLEMATIS.  53 

Away  with  the  smile  and  the  kiss  of  the  fair, 
For  that  smile  is  deceit  and  that  kiss  is  a  snare  ; 
But  give  me  the  frank-hearted  school-boy,  a  friend 
That  loves  like  Clematis,  who  loves  to  the  end. 
'Tis  Clematis  that  cheers  me,  when  deep  I  despond  ; 
"Tis  Clematis  that  laughs  me  to  happiness  fond  ; 
And  'tis  he  that  loves  true,  and  'tis  he  that  loves  free  ; 
(),  'tis  he  and  his  love  that  are  ever  with  me. 
Clematis,  Clematis,  my  song  is  to  thee  ! 
To  Clematis  I  sing,  and  my  heart  sings  to  me. 

TO  CLEMATIS. 

Months — years,  have  passed,  Clematis,  since  we  met, 

vSince  first  I  kissed  thy  boyish  tear  away, 

And  taught  thy  heart  to  feel  true  friendship's  sway  ; 
I  hit  that  sweet  tutoring  do  I  now7  regret? 

The  task  was  easy,  both  to  teach  and  learn  ; 

I  gave  thee  love,  thou  loved' st  in  return. 

The  moment  that  thy  thrilling  hand  pressed  mine 

I  felt  that  we  had  met  and  loved  before, 
And  that  our  hearts,  impelled  by  power  divine, 

Kach  other  sought,  to  live  old  friendship  o'er  ; 
Ah,  yes  !  the  treasure  which  I  then  acquired 
Seemed  one  my  secret  heart  had  long  desired. 
In  me  at  once  thy  confidence  was  placed, 

And  mine  in  thee  ;  fast  friends  we  were  e'en  then. 
How  sweet  that  hour  when  met  we  and  embraced  ; 

Flow  sad  it  seemed  when  parted  we  again  ; 
Vet  I  was  glad,  for,  at  the  parting  touch, 
Delight  was  mine  to  feel  beloved  so  much. 
When  oft  thy  feet  came  tripping  to  my  door. 

How  fondly  beat  niy  heart  to  welcome  thee  ; 
And  when  thou  wouldst  rehearse  thy  troubles  o'er, 

The  chance  to  soothe  thee  was  a  joy  to  me. 
Aught  in  my  powyer  could  I  refuse  to  do 
For  thee,  and  thou  a  friend  so  good,  so  true  ? 


54  CHRISTMAS  BELL. 

Whene'er  I  smiled,  thy  face  beamed  happiness  ; 

Whene'er  I  sighed,  sad,  too,  throbbed  thy  fond  heart 
Whene'er  I  grieved,  thine  eyes  wept  keen  distress  ; 

And  this,  all  this  so  pure  and  free  of  art. 
Since  thou,  sweet  friend,  art  constant  soul  to  me, 
How  else  than  constant  can  I  be  to  thee  ? 

CHRISTMAS  BELL. 

A    HYMN. 

Ring  out !     Ring  out,  O  Christmas  bell  ! 

Peal  forth  in  merry  chime  ! 
Let  sound  and  echo  wildly  tell 

The  glory  of  the  time  ! 

The  birth  of  our  Redeemer  sing, 

And  sing  in  meetest  strain, 
And  let  His  name  and  fame  take  wing 

O'er  mountain,  stream  and  plain. 

Sing  of  the  child,  our  Prince,  our  Guide, 
Who  came  in  swaddling  clothes  ; 

Sing  how  He  lived,  sing  how  He  died, 
And  how  from  death  He  rose. 

Then  let  the  melting  music  float, 

Resounding  through  the  air  ; 
Yea,  let  the  wildness  from  thy  throat 

Pour  gladness  everywhere. 

Be  this  a  day  of  praise  and  rest, 

All  free  of  worldly  care  ; 
"  Come,  all  ye  faithful,"  hail  the  blest 

With  music  and  with  prayer. 

And  ring,  O  Christmas  bell,  to  Him, 

Cause  of  our  ecstasy, 
Whom  Cherubim,  and  Seraphim 

Adore  on  bended  knee. 


IS   HE    DEAD?  55 

IS  HE  DEAD? 

WRITTEN    FOR    MRS.    R.    WHOSE  SON,  A   SCHOOL-MATE    OF 
THE    AUTHOR,    DIED    WHILE    AT   SCHOOL. 

They  tell  me  he's  dead  !     But  can  I  believe? 

Can  this  be  the  grief  that  a  mother  must  grieve  ? 

Or  is  it  some  nightmare  in  which  I  thus  start, 

While  smothers  my  breast,  and  while  shudders  my  heart? 

But  yesterday,  O,  and  my  boy,  fondest  one, 

I  beheld,  as  he  smiled,  in  my  fanciful  dream  ; 

This  moment,  alas  !    how  his  bloom  is  all  gone  ! 

No  color,  no  smiles  on  his  placid  face  beam  ; 

But  the  paleness  of  death  is  upon  it  instead  ! 

Yet  can  it  be  death  ?     Is  he  dead  ?     Is  he  dead  ? 

But  stir,  oh,  my  loved  one,  those  lips,  wan  and  pale  ! 
But  stir  them,  and  breathe  a  response  to  my  wail  ! 
Frame  even  the  shape  of  one  kiss  for  a  kiss  ! 
Kind  Heaven  O  grant  me — O  grant  me  but  this  ! 
Still  fixed  are  his  eyes,  still  mute  is  his  tongue  ; 
Still  smileless  his  face,  and  still  heedless  his  ear  ; 
Nor  feels  he  the  bosom  to  which  he  hath  clung, 
Nor  heeds  he  the  tears  which  fall  fast  on  his  bier  ! 
Alas,  he's  no  more  !     His  bright  spirit  is  fled  ! 
Yet  can  it  be  death  ?     Is  he  dead  ?     Is  he  dead  ? 

Good  bye,  ah,  my  lost  one,  a  final  good  bye  ; 

Yet  another  fond  kiss,  and  another  fond  sigh  ; 

And  now  let  those  cold,  palid  lips  of  thine 

Press  a  lasting,  a  lasting  farewell  upon  mine  ; 

But  oh,  can  it  be  that  forever  we  part  ? 

Can  it  be  that  forever  I'm  left  in  despair? 

Nay,  again  may  we  meet  in  that  realm  where  thou  art ; 

And  a  smile  and  embrace  wilt  thou  have  for  me  there, 

Where  grief  is  unknown,  where  never  is  said, — 

"  O  can  it  be  death  ?     Is  he  dead  ?     Is  he  dead  ?" 


56  A  LA' RACE'S   SO.\G. 

ALK  RANK'S  SONG. 

Fondest  scene,  the  rarest 

Vision  in  the  land. 
Full  of  life,  the  fairest 

Works  of  Nature's  hand  ; 
Full  of  life  and  beauty, 
Full  of  enchanting  sways. 

The  touches,  here  and  there,  of  fairy  wand. 
The  pine  tree  whispers  back  my  sigh, 
The  willow  tosses  it  on  high, 
The  zephyr  wafts  it  to  the  sky  ; 
And  there  it  echoes,  but  to  die. 
The  hemlock  sobs  in  utter  gloom, 
And  warns  me  of  a  direful  doom  ; 
A  doom,  a  doom,  a  direful  doom. 
Warns  me  of  a  direful  doom. 
Mine  is  a  fate  as  dark  as  night, 
Dark  as  the  crow  on  yonder  height  : 
I  shoot  my  arrow,  and  lo,  he's  dead  ! 
So  I  shall  die  in  a  stream  of  red. 
The  sturdy  oak  of  strength  and  power 
Is  shattered  by  the  tempest's  hand  ; 
So  I  shall  drop  in  some  future  hour, 
Beneath  the  downfall  of  our  land. 
O  mine  are  the  dream-;  that  fates  destroy, 
And  mine  are  thoughts  of  a  vacant  joy, 
A  joy  that  smiles  like  the  summer's  charm, 
Which  ends  its  calm  in  a  thunder  storm. 
Yea,  the  dreams  that  live  in  my  idle  mind 

Grow,  like  the  bubbles  that  effervesce, 
Which  reflect  the  scenery  left  behind, 
Then  fly  into  empty  nothingness. 

The  bubbles  are  burst  by  a  puff  of  breath, 
In  a  moment  the  dreams  are  vanished  in  death. 
We  are  the  bubbles  upon  the  wave, 
And  we  are  the  dreams  above  the  grave. 


ALKRAXE'S   SOXG.  57 

Let  but  a  gush  of  air  blow  nigh, 

And  we,  the  bubbles,  are  no  more  ; 
Let  but  a  moment's  vision  die, 

And  we,  the  dreams,  to  oblivion  soar. 
The  bubbles  and  dreams  are  alike  in  worth, 
As  reflections  or  shadows  upon  the  earth — 
Reflections  and  shadows,  uncertain  things — 
Fanned  from  existence  by  others'  wings. 
A  foe  is  the  treacherous  puff  of  wind 

That  wreaks  the  bubbles'  sudden  doom  ; 
And  a  foe  is  the  whirlwind  of  the  mind 

That  sweeps  the  dreams  into  utter  gloom. 

All,  all  are  but  dreams,  for  a  time  to  abide, 

And  all  are  but  bubbles  upon  the  tide. 

Such  is  our  grief  or  happiness, 

And  such  is  our  pleasure  or  distress. 

The  whirlwind  might  rise  and  sweep  us  away  ; 

Our  fate,  our  destruction  none,  none  would  deplore  ; 
The  waters  might  rush  in  their  fierceness  of  play, 

And  hurl  us  at  once  to  eternity's  shore. 

O  ours  is  a  fate  that  is  yet  unknown, 

But  the  music  of  hope  is  already  flown. 

The  eagle  may  hide  in  his  rocky  eyrie  ; 

In  his  covert  the  panther  may  crouch,  wild  and  fiery  ; 

But  I,  alas  I,  my  kindred  and  I, 

Are  destined  to  drink  of  the  hemlock's  blood, 
To  rave  like  the  starved  wolf,  to  famish  and  die, 

Without  even  a  grave  in  our  own  native  wood. 

On  Time's  rapid  river, 

In  our  frail  canoe, 
We  shall  conquer  never, 

We  are  but  a  few. 

Should  we  strive  not  hand  in  hand, 
Woe  shall  be  our  native  land, 

And  our  honor  too. 


58  AUTUMN   IN   PREHISTORIC    WYOMING. 

The  scene  about  me  still  is  fair, 

A  smile  lights  up  her  face  ; 
She  even  laughs  as  I  despair 

The  downfall  of  our  race. 

The  pine  tree  whispers  back  my  sigh, 
The  willow  tosses  it  on  high, 
Zephyrs  waft  it  to  the  sky, 
And  there  it  echoes,  but  to  die. 
The  hemlock  sobs  in  utter  gloom, 
And  warns  me  of  a  direful  doom  ; 
A  doom,  a  doom,  a  direful  doom, 
And  warns  me  of  a  direful  doom. 

AUTUMN  IN  PREHISTORIC  WYOMING. 

Autumn,  clad  in  her  melancholy  robe 
Of  mellow  dreariness,  dark  frowned  and  sighed, 
Causing  a  universal  groan  and  sob  ; 
And  nature's  tattered  garments  wild  did  ride, 
Piece  after  piece,  upon  the  wind  ;  the  dried 
And  withered  leaves  behind  the  trees  were  heaped, 
Checked  in  their  chase  on  the  aerial  tide, 
Within  whose  depths  the  yellow  sunshine  peeped  ; 
And  bright  from  scene  to  scene  its  flashes  danced  and 
leaped. 

Many  a  flower  was  falling  to  decay  ; 

The  mosses  gathered  round  the  lifeless  brush  ; 

The  grasshopper,  in  chilly  suit  of  gray, 

Perched  on  a  time-worn  rock  or  dying  bush, 

And  chirped  a  sad  complaint  unto  the  thrush  ; 

Uttered  and  chirped  it  in  a  plaintive  tone, 

Intreating  the  golden-rod  its  grief  to  hush  ; 

Yet  begged  the  sunflower,  by  the  stream,  to  moan 

With  him,  and  not  to  flee,  and  let  him  grieve  alone. 

The  woodchuck  stood,  a  sentinel,  at  the  hole, 
A  blinking  sentinel  that  fain  wTould  sleep. 


SCEXE    AY  PREHISTORIC    1VYOMIXG.  59 

Xo\v  forth  a  pace  or  two  he  softly  stole, 
Then  back,  with  lazy  step,  his  watch  to  keep. 
The  cauquaw,  the  quilled  porcupine,  would  leap 
Among  the  hemlock  branches  in  the  dark, 
Losing  his  prickly  armor  ;  thence,  'twould  leap 
From  tree  to  tree,  stripping  them  of  their  bark, 
Leaving  throughout  the  forest  his  destructive  mark. 

The  crow  soared  to  the  pine-tree's  lofty  top, 
Cawing  and  croaking  to  his  fellow  bird  ; 
Cawing  and  croaking  without  change  or  stop, 
Till  dismal  echoes  through  the  gloom  were  heard. 
The  catbird  winged  his  shadowy  flight,  and  blurred 
The  ha/y  daylight  with  his  wings  and  tail, 
Deep'ning  the  gloomness  with  his  song  absurd, 
Which  mocked  itself,  and  proved  a  piteous  wail ; 
He  flew,  companionless,  throughout  the  wooded  vale. 

SCKXE  IX  PREHISTORIC  WYOMING. 

Amidst  a  wild  and  beauteous  scene, 
Where  verdure  was  of  richest  green, 
And  loudest  sang  the  rippling  rills 
Between  the  thickly  wooded  hills, 
Bold  Talakeena  forth  did  ride, 
With  many  an  Indian  at  his  side, 
Galloping  on  with  spirit  gay, 
To  drink  the  pleasure  of  the  da}-. 

They  scampered  over  dale  and  hill, 
Far  down  the  valley,  calm  and  still  : 
Sometimes  on  Susquehanna's  side, 
Sometimes  upon  the  upland  wide  ; 
Holding  aloft  the  brandished  spear 
To  smite  the  fleet  affrighted  deer, 
And  struggling  fierce  to  keep  apace 
With  Talakeena  in  the  chase. 


60  A    LACKAWANNA    LEGEND. 

On,  on  the}r  dashed,  at  break-neck  speed  ; 

Each  rider  lashed  his  fiery  steed, 

And  volleyed  forth  shrill  whoops  and  yells 

Which  echoed  through  the  distant  dells, 

Putting  to  flight  the  deer  or  hare 

That  crept  dismayed  for  refuge  there. 

A  LACKAWAXXA  LEGEND. 

At  mid-day  an  Indian  maiden  stood, 
Sighing  to  fair  Lackawanna's  flood, 
Where  a  poplar  drooped  over  the  river's  edge, 
The  trysting  place  of  her  secret  pledge. 
Now  over  the  waters  her  glance  she  swept, 

And  now  behind  her,  as  if  afraid, 
And  then  by  turns  she  smiled  and  wept, 

Then  gazed  on  the  waves  as  they  danced  and  played 
But  the  waves  still  danced,  and  the  waves  still  played, 
Like  the  fancies  and  hopes  of  the  beautiful  maid. 

Lo  !  sudden  is  seen  on  the  waters  blue 

A  warrior  bold  in  a  birchen  canoe  ; 

When  soon  on  the  flower-spangled  bank  he  stepped. 

The  maiden  smiled,  and  the  maiden  wept. 

Enraptured  she  flew  to  her  lover's  arms, 

Xor  thought  of  the  sire  whom  she  disobeyed  ; 
Each,  stolen  from  self  by  the  other's  charms, 

Heard  not  the  waves  as  they  danced  and  played  ; 
But  the  waves  still  danced,  and  the  waves  still  played, 
As  fluttered  the  hearts  of  the  youth  and  the  maid. 

Again  the  bold  warrior  sought  his  canoe, 
And  soon  was  afar  on  the  waters  blue. 
Alas,  alas  !  the  sweetest  bliss 
Oft  comes  and  goes  like  a  lover's  kiss  ! 
The  youth  to  his  battles  away  was  gone, 
To  fall,  perhaps,  by  the  foernan's  blade  : 


TALAKEENAS   CHASE.  6l 

And  the  maiden  was  left  in  her  trance  alone, 

To  gaze  o'er  the  waves  as  they  danced  and  played  ; 
And  the  waves  still  danced,  and  the  waves  still  played, 
Not  heeding  the  sighs  of  the  pensive  maid. 

And,  lo  !  as  the  waters  went  on  in  their  play, 
A  nymph  arose,  and  with  magic  sway 
Enchanted  the  maiden  from  off  the  shore 
To  dwell  'neath  the  ripples  forevermore. 
And  now,  on  the  banks  by  the  poplar  tree, 

Each  day,  when  the  sun  is  aloft  on  his  way, 
A  nymph  may  be  seen  in  an  ecstasy 

To  gaze  o'er  the  waves  as  they  dance  and  play  ; 
And  the  waves  still  dance,  and  the  waves  still  play, 
And  the  smiles  of  the  maiden  are  seen  in  the  spray. 

TALAKEENA'S  CHASE. 

The  horns  awoke  the  sleeping  dell ; 
The  notes  re-echoed,  rose  and  fell, 

And  bounded  up  again  ; 
Tree,  rock  and  hill  spoke  out  at  once, 
Uttering  back  a  quick  response, 

And  roused  the  dale  and  glen. 

The  beat  of  hoof,  the  lash,  the  shout 
Soon  put  a  cowering  roe  to  rout. 

And  made  his  limbs  more  fleet ; 
He  stood  awhile  his  ears  to  prick, 
Then  sprang  from  out  his  covert  thick, 

And  fled  with  flying  feet. 

At  this  another  yell  arose  ; 

Three  hundred  Indians  wild  did  close 

On  the  pursuing  track  ; 
Again  the  dells  caught  up  the  shout, 
Again  the  rocks  and  hills  spoke  out, 

And  flung:  the  echoes  back. 


62  TALAKEEXAS   CHASE. 

The  roe,  with  fast  upheaving  breast, 
And  with  uplifted  antlered  crest, 

Defied  the  huntsmen  all  ; 
His  nostrils,  large  expanded  wide. 
Sniffing  the  air  with  lordly  pride  ; 

He  scorned  the  fear  of  fall. 
Now  bounded  he  in  winged  haste  ; 
Now  paused  for  rest,  but  to  be  chased 

And  hunted  as  before  ; 
Then  darted  he  among  the  bru<-h, 
Where  mounted  horsemen  failed  to  rush, 

But  where  their  darts  could  pour. 
Again  impetuous  was  he  driven, 
Xor  rest  nor  hope  of  rest  was  given  ; 

The  merest  pause  were  woe. 
But  lo  !   he's  baffled  by  the  brook  ; 
He  turns  with  bold,  defiant  look, 

And  glares  upon  his  foe. 
They  whoop  and  yell,  they  near  and  near, 
With  gleaming  eye  and  thirsty  spear, 

Full  certain  of  the  beast : 
Not  so,  for,  like  the  feathered  wand 
From  bow-string  twanged  by  mighty  hand, 

He  darts  with  lowered  crest. 
Down  drops  the  chieftain's  mustang;  down 
The  next,  a  third,  a  fourth  is  thrown. 

And  tossed  in  wild  dismay  ; 
Bold  Talakeena  gains  his  feet, 
But,  chid  by  Alkrane's  accents  sweet, 

Smites  not  the  noble  prey. 

The  deer  with  winged  fleetness  fled  ; 
Three  hundred  arrows  madly  sped 

And  passed  him  like  a  breath. 
Again  the  streamlet  checked  his  course  ; 
Again  he  turned  him  round  perforce, 

This  time,  to  wait  for  death. 


ALKRAXE'S   SOXG    OF  LOVE.  63 

His  breath  was  scant,  his  strength  was  low, 
Else  he  again  might  face  his  foe, 

And  charge  them  as  before. 
Three  hundred  bows  were  bent  full  quick 
Till  both  horns  met  with  sudden  click  ; 

Then  silence  hovered  o'er. 

But  through  the  still  aerial  deep, 
Like  horns  when  night  is  fast  asleep, 

Rang  Talakeena's  cry, — 
' '  Forbear,  1113-  braves,  forbear  !  the  beast 
Has  fought  his  battle  well  at  least ; 

Such  foemeii  should  not  die." 

Awhile  the  roe  remained  dismayed, 
Awhile  he  gazed  on  man  and  blade, 

Then  fled  in  utter  daze. 
The  warriors  marveling  glance  about, 
And  up  went  echoing  yell  and  shout 

In  Talakeena's  praise. 

ALKR  AXE'S  SONG  OF  IyOVE. 

IX    IMITATION    OK    MOORE. 

O,  spirit  of  rapture,  my  soul  is  awake  ; 

Give  me  thoughts  that  may  sparkle  like  stars  in  the  sky, 
Whose  beauty  is  seen  in  the  slumbering  lake  ; 

Tune  my  voice  to  the  note  of  the  songsters  that  fly. 
O  bright  are  the  moon  and  the  twinkling  star 

That  climb  the  mysterious  realm  above  ; 
But  mine  is  a  theme  more  charming  by  far — 

It  is  love  ;  it  is  love. 
The  sunflowers  that  bask  in  the  sun's  welcome  rays, 

The  blossoms  that  bathe  in  the  dew-drops  of  night, 
The  realm  of  the  sprites,  and  the  realm  of  the  fays, 

All  share  of  the  sweetness  of  love's  delight ; 
But  theirs  is  but  sadness  compared  with  the  bliss 

Of  the  monarch  of  hearts  in  his  magical  cove  ; 
O  if  ever  joy  smiled  for  a  passion  to  kiss, 

It  is  love  ;  it  is  love. 


64  ALKR AXE'S   SOXG   OF   LOVE. 

The  roses  of  spring-time  that  blossom  and  bloom, 

The  flowers  that  laugh  in  their  mute  delight, 
All  live,  all  perish,  all  sink  in  their  tomb, 

But  love,  like  a  star,  shines  forever  and  bright. 
The  soul  that  is  blest  with  such  magic  as  this, 

Enchantments  are  his,  which  are  gifts  from  above  ; 
For  if  ever  there  breathed  a  spirit  of  bliss, 

It  is  love  ;  it  is  love. 

0  mine  is  a  theme  like  the  slumbering  lake, 
Which  sleeps  till  its  waves  by  force  borrowed  awake  ; 

1  drop  but  a  thought,  a  pebble,  and  lo  ! 
Ripples  on  ripples  in  beauty  flow  : 

And  the  myriad  stars  that  twinkle  and  peep 

Are  seen  in  the  depths,  a  beauteous  sight, 
Flowing  and  sparkling  through  the  deep, 

As  the  fires  of  love  in  a  dream  of  delight. 
Mine  is  a  song  whose  mystic  strain 
Awakes  a  joy  in  the  dullest  brain  : 
I  strike  but  a  string  and  the  music  rolls, 
Spreading  a  light  through  the  darkest  souls  ; 
And  mine  are  the  \vords  whose  enchanting  sway 

Entices  the  angels  of  bliss  to  me  : 
I  need  but  to  whisper,  and  all  obey  ; 

My  hearers  rush  forth  in  an  ecstasy. 
'Tis  I  that  waft  to  the  weary  breast 
A  life-giving  hope  and  a  placid  rest  ; 
I  need  but  to  breathe  upon  distress 
And  the  heart  throbs  calm  in  happiness  ; 
And  'tis  I  that  murmur  in  sweetest  tone 

The  secret  to  pleasures  long  sought  in  vain  : 
Even  memory  grasps  up  a  joy  that  is  gone, 

And  kindles  it  into  life  again. 

0  mine  is  a  song  whose  gentle  truth 
Awakens  a  hope  in  the  hapless  youth  : 

1  need  but  to  echo  young  love's  desire, 
And  his  heart  is  filled  with  impulsive  fire  : 


ALKRANPS    PROPHECY.  65 

Yea,  the  breast  that  my  bursts  of  music  find 

Bounds  and  heaves  in  its  wild  delight, 
As  the  water,  tossed  by  a  pleasant  wind, 

Gladdens,  exultant  in  its  might. 
'Tis  I  that  tell  of  a  coming  joy, 
And  'tis  I  that  the  lingering  grief  destroy  ; 
I  breathe,  and  the  future  is  come,  and  o'er  ; 
I  sing,  and  the  sorrows  are  no  more. 
O  there  are  times  when  hearts  descry 

A  storm  long  ere  it  is  thundered  forth, 
As  the  birds  of  the  air  know  the  rain  is  nigh 

Before  a  drop  is  seen  on  the  earth. 
But  what  is  this  wondrous  power  of  mine, 
With  its  mystic  music,  so  pure  and  fine, 
A  lay  which  from  dreamland  flutters  and  floats 
On  the  wings  of  its  vague  but  enchanting  notes  ? 
Is  it  a  spell  which  to  fairies  belong  ? 

Is  it  a  gift  from  the  spirits  above  ? 
Tis  both  and  'tis  more,  for  the  soul  of  my  song 

Is  the  everywhere  monarch,  the  magic  of  love. 
The  flowers  of  spring-time  that  blossom  and  bloom, 

The  roses  that  laugh  in  their  mute  delight, 
All,  live,  all  perish,  all  sink  in  their  tomb, 

But  love,  like  a  star,  shines  forever  and  bright. 
The  heart  that  is  blest  with  such  magic  as  this, 

Enchantments  are  his,  \vhich  are  gifts  from  above  ! 
()  if  ever  there  breathed  a  spirit  of  bliss, 

It  is  love  ;  it  is  love  ! 

AI.KRANE'S  PROPHECY. 
Wake,  ye  hills  that  slumber, 

Wake,  and  tell  my  spirit ; 
Tell  me  of  the  future, 

That  I  may  not  fear  it; 
That  I  may  proclaim  it 

To  my  fellow  creatures, 
To  avoid  the  dangers  ; 

Wake,  and  be  my  teacher. 


66 


Speak,  ye  darksome  forests, 

Speak,  and  chase  the  gloominess  ! 
Has  our  future  sunshine  ? 

May  our  hopes  be  luminous? 
Speak,  ye  pine  trees,  tell  me, 

Set  your  plumed  crests  humming, 
Shall  our  country  conquer 

In  the  warfare  coming  ? 
Wake,  ye  lakes — ye  placid 

Mighty  sleeping  waters — 
Wake,  inspire  my  spirit, 

Warn  your  sons  and  daughters. 
Wake,  O  wake,  and  warn  them  : 

Scatter  forth  your  glories, 
Pour  to  them  your  wisdom, 

I  will  breathe  your  stories. 
O,  ye  hills,  ye  mountains, 

O,  ye  woods  and  waters, 
Burst  from  out  your  slumber. 

Save  your  sons  and  daughters. 
Sing,  and  gush  forth  knowledge. 

One  impetuous  number, 
One  wild  flood  of  music  ; 

Burst,  O  burst  from  slumber. 
Ho,  my  soul  arouses, 

All  my  senses  waken  ; 
Nature  hears  her  children — 

We  are  not  forsaken. 
Lo  !  the  valley's  beauties 

Rise,  and  chant  before  us  ; 
All  their  voices  mingle 

In  tumultuous  chorus. 
Now,  within  my  fancy 

Images  are  growing  ; 
Throngs  of  vaguest  spirits 

Flowing,  flowing,  flowing, 


ALA'XAA'E'S   PROPHECY.  67 

Rising  to  their  brightest  ; 

Shadows  follow  after, 
After,  after,  after, 

Robed  in  sorrow,  swelling, 
Shaking  with  grim  laughter. 

"Tis  an  omen  gloomy, 

'Tis  an  omen  fearful, 
One  that  makes  the  eyelid 

Droop  and  quiver  tearful. 
Lo  !  each  shape  advances, 

Vanishing  the  brightness  ; 
Where  his  footstep  touches, 

Blackness  swallows  whiteness. 

As  the  light  is  victim 

To  the  shadow  shapeless, 
Even  so  is  mortal, 

To  his  fortune  hapless. 
Light  is  sniffed  by  darkness  ; 

Fate  destroys  the  mortal  ; 
Both  are  seized  by  foemen, 

Swept  through  dreamland's  portal. 
O,  eternal  slumber  ! 

(),  the  dream  that  wakes  not  ! 
Sudden  sinks  the  mortal, 

Falls  asleep,  and  wakes  not — 
Falls  asleep,  unconscious 

Of  the  friends  that  love  him — 
Heedless  of  the  comrades 

That  deplore  above  him. 
Last  moon,  as  I  rested, 

Dreaming  of  the  morrow, 
Forms  assailed  my  vision, 

Forms  of  gloom  and  sorrow  ; 
And  I  saw  them  gliding 

O'er  a  sweeping  river 
To  the  land  of  spirits, 

There  to  dwell  forever 


68  ALKRANPS   PROPHECY. 

In  canoes  of  birch-wood, 

Frail  canoes,  they  hurried, 
And  the  storm-blast  thundered  ; 

All  seemed  lost  and  buried. 
Some  gave  up  the  struggle, 

Faint  and  broken-hearted  ; 
Then,  with  yells  of  terror, 

'Neath  the  waves  departed. 
Soon  do  other  beings, 

In  like  birch-\vood  vessels, 
Paddle  on  together  ; 

The  storm-blast  with  them  wrestles. 
Taking  heart  and  cautious, 

Lest  their  foe  might  hurt  them, 
O'er  they  rowred  triumphant ; 

Faith  did  not  desert  them. 
Near  the  shore,  a  pathway 

Stretched  in  milky  whiteness, 
Pathway  of  the  spirits, 

Belt  of  starry  brightness. 
This  the  sprites  trod  joyful, 

Loving  and  caressing  ; 
They  in  faith  united, 

Won  eternal  blessing. 

When  this  vision  faded, 

Fast  my  bosom  bounded  ; 
Up  I  rose  affrighted, 

By  a  gloom  surrounded. 
"  This,"  moaned  I,  "is  death ful  ; 

'Tis  a  woeful  omen  !  " 
Then  I  wept,  and  sorrowed, 

Trembling  like  a  woman. 
"  Woe  unto  the  country  ; 

Woe  unto  the  valley, 
Whose  own  sons  are  faithless, 

Called  upon  to  rally  : 


ALKK  AXE'S    SOXG,    MAUKAXAW.  69 

Lands  whose  sons  are  heartless 

Meet  a  doom  unuttered  ! ' ' 
This,  ah,  this  bewailed  I, 

While  my  sad  heart  fluttered. 
This  and  more  I  thought  of 

Till  1113*  brain,  wild  glowing, 
Whirled  and  whirled  in  madness  ; 

Tree  and  sky  seemed  flowing, 
Till  I  sank  exhausted, 

Earth  my  pillow  cheerless  ; 
Slumber  pressed  my  eyelids, 

Which  not  e'en  then  were  tearless. 
Long  I  lay  unconscious, 

Mute  in  blankness  sleeping, 
With  no  thrill  of  feeling 

Through  my  body  creeping. 
When  I  woke  all  nature 

Hailed  me  with  sweet  measures, 
Telling  wondrous  secrets 

Of  the  future's  treasures. 
O  ye  hills,  ye  mountains, 

O  ye  woods  and  waters, 
Burst  from  out  your  slumber, 

Save  your  sons  and  daughters  ! 
Sing,  and  gush  forth  courage 

In  one  thrilling  number, 
One  wild  flood  of  music  ; 

Burst,  O  burst  from  slumber! 

ALKRAXK'S  SOXG,  MAUKANAW." 

O,  wild  is  the  heart  of  the  young  Maukanaw, 

And  wild  are  the  hearts  that  he  leads  ; 
And  they  live  where  the  bear  saps  the  blood  from  his  paw. 

And  they  live  where  the  catamount  feeds — 
In  Wyoming's  dark  mount,  where  the  red  flame  rests 

Ere  it  kisses  the  valley  "  Good  night." 


70  CONFLICT  BETWEEN   T.U.AKEENA,  ETC. 

O  'twas  there  the  invaders,  with  proud-lifted  crests, 
Came  like  swallows  arrayed  against  eagle's  nests, 

And  withered  like  flowers  in  a  blight ; 
Then  Maukanaw  triumphed,  and  Maukanaw  laughed, 
For  who  could  withstand  his  strong  arm  and  his  shaft ! 

O  fierce  is  the  heart  of  the  young  Maukanaw, 

And  fierce  are  the  hearts  of  his  braves ; 
He  levels  his  foes  like  the  Northern  flaw, 

Like  the  leaves  you  may  number  their  graves. 
The  tribes  of  the  South  and  the  tribes  of  the  West 

Poured  into  Wyoming  amain  ; 
And  their  war-paint  was  blood-red  and  blood-red  each 

crest, 
And  wild  were  the  cries  round  that  eagle's  nest, 

But  they  never  were  heard  of  again  ; 
And  Maukanaw  triumphed,  and  Maukanaw  laughed, 
For  who  could  withstand  his  strong  arm  and  his  shaft ! 

CONFLICT  BETWEEN  TALAKEEXA  AND 
MAUKANAW. 

There  in  the  Bison's  flowing  blood 
A  towering  youth,  a  chieftain,  stood, 

With  aspect,  wild  and  gay. 
He  claimed  with  mighty  utterance, 
While  brandishing,  in  pride,  his  lance, 

That  he  had  slain  the  prey. 

Around  him  pressed  his  trusty  band 
Of  warriors  with  bow7  in  hand, 

Heroes  of  daring  deeds. 
They  kept  their  silence,  stern  and  grave, 
Till  sudden  started  every  brave 

At  sounds  of  coming  steeds. 

Then  flashed  their  spirits  into  flame, 
And  loud  and  louder  rose  the  name 
Of  mighty  Maukanaw. 


CONFLICT  BETWEEN   TALAKEENA,  ETC.  71 

They  watched  him  standing,  sullen,  dark, 
While  blazed  his  eye  like  meteor  spark  ; 

A  storm-blast  there  they  saw. 
Upon  the  scene  the  comers  swept, 
And  Talakeena  forward  stepped, 

And  said,  "  The  beast  is  mine." 
But  Maukanaw,  with  brandished  blade, 
Stood  forth,  as  one  for  fight  arrayed, 

Like  some  tall  plumed  pine. 
He  vowed  'was  slain  by  his  own  brand, 
And,  "he  that  doubts,  must  face  the  hand 

By  which  that  prey  was  won  !" 
To  emphasize  his  daring  phrase, 
He  flashed  his  weapon  in  the  rays 

Of  the  descending  sun. 
Bold  Talakeena  bent  in  scorn, 
And  plucked  the  lasso  from  the  horn, 

And  from  the  bleeding  head  ; 
Then  raised,  and  held  it  there  on  high, 
Before  the  ga/e  of  every  eye, 

Streaming  with  liquid  red. 

Then  casting  it  away  in  pride, 

He  snatched  from  out  the  bison's  side 

A  long  and  feathered  dart, 
Which  by  some  sure  arm  had  been  sped  ; 
'Twas  bloody  red,  and  brilliant  red, 

All  colored  by  the  heart. 
This,  too,  he  raised  and  held  on  high, 
Before  the  gaze  of  every  eye, 

And  even-  brave's  comment  ; 
The  shaft  bore  Talakeena's  brand, 
And  feathers,  cherished  by  his  band  ; 

The  truth  to  all  it  sent. 

Fierce  Maukanaw,  though  now  'twas  plain 
That  beast  by  him  was  never  slain, 
Yet  eager  for  a  fray, 


CONFLICT  BETWEEN   TALAKEENA,  ETC. 

Brandished  aloft  his  flashing  spear, 
And  cried  Talakeena,    "  Here  ! 

Strike,  and  win  back  the  prey  ! ' ' 
Like  lightnings  through  a  gathering  cloud 
Flashed  Talakeena' s  eyes,  and  loud 

Like  thunder  rang  his  call, — 
"  On  with  the  fight  !  here  heaves  a  breast 
That  fears  nor  brave  nor  feathered  crest ! 

Strike  !  thou,  or  I  must  fall  !  " 
Like  giants  fierce  in  war  arrayed 
They  rushed  together  ;  blade  on  blade 

Was  shivered  wide  like  grass  ; 
As  when  two  buffaloes  are  driven 
To  strife  in  fury,  horns  are  riven, 

And  scattered  o'er  the  grass. 
Awhile  the  chieftains  paused,  amazed, 
Awhile  upon  each  other  gazed, 

Then  flashed  the  hunting  knife  ; 
Again  tornado-like  they  clashed, 
Again  each  blade  away  was  dashed, 

And  fiercer  grew  the  strife. 

They  locked  in  deadliest  embrace, 
And  war  frowned  direful  in  each  face  ; 

Their  eyes  blazed  deathful  hopes. 
They  wrestled  like  two  mountain  storms  ; 
Their  sinews  stood  forth  from  their  forms, 

Like  twisted,  knotted  ropes. 

Uprooted  grass  and  stone  they  hurled, 

And  round  and  round  they  plunged  and  whirled, 

Breathing  like  distant  thunder  ; 
Then  Talakeena  strained  at  length, 
His  utmost  nerve,  his  utmost  strength, 

And  crashed  his  foeman  under. 

The  sound  was  loud,  the  echoes  lasted  ; 
E'en  as  a  forest  oak,  when  blasted, 
Wakes  verberations  clear. 


CONFLICT  BETWEEN  TALAKEENA,  ETC.  73 

Hold  Talakeena  scowling  clasped 

His  victim's  throat,  and  wildly  grasped 

His  knife  that  lay  anear. 
Fiercely  he  raised  for  mightier  force, 
And  poised  his  blade,  and  muttered  hoarse, 

"  Die  !  daring  boaster,  die  !  " 
"  Smite  !  "  cried  the  conquered  warrior,  "  smite  ! 
I  fear  nor  brave,  nor  chief,  nor  sprite  ! 

For  Maukanaw  am  I !" 
His  voice  rang  like  a  hunter's  horn  ; 
His  smile  was  fierce  with  pride  and  scorn  ; 

Defiant  blazed  his  eye. 
Awhile  the  weapon  threatened  death  ; 
Awhile  it  gleamed,  then,  like  a  breath, 

Away  'twas  seen  to  fly. 
Then  Talakeena  upward  sprung, 
While  thunder-like  his  accents  rung: 

"  Arise,  most  fearless  brave  ! 
'Twere  base  for  hand  of  warrior 
To  cause  such  blood  as  thine  to  pour, 

And  that,  so  near  yon  wave, 
The  wave  that  lately  blood-red  saw 
Invaders  crushed  by  Maukanaw, 

Like  reeds  before  a  blast. 
Here  \yhere  our  fathers  bled  of  old, 
Sons  of  Wyoming,  tried  and  bold  ! 

O  be  this  strife  our  last ! 

"  As  for  the  bison,  if  'tis  mine, 

I  claim  it  not,  great  chief,  'tis  thine  ! 

Thou  art  Wyoming  born  !  ' ' 
Then  loud  in  Talakeena' s  name 
Did  deafening  yell  its  praise  proclaim, 

And  shriek  of  battle-horn. 

The  tumult  ceased  ;  all  silent  gazed  ; 
Young  Maukanaw  abashed,  amazed, 
Stood  there  as  in  a  trance. 


74  TALAKEENAS  BISON  CHASE. 

Finding  his  voice  at  last,  he  said, 
"  Met  I  that  mighty  chieftain's  blade, 
Wyoming's  boldest  lance? 

' '  Though  I  have  urged  to  selfish  war 
Wyoming's  noblest  warrior, 

I  now  will  make  amends  !  " 
Both  chieftains  smiled,  and  face  to  face 
They  stood,  the  mightiest  of  their  race, 

Clasping  their  hands  as  friends. 

TALAKEENA'S   BISON   CHASE. 

Dark  rolled  the  dust-cloud  o'er  the  plain  ; 
A  herd  of  bisons  dashed  amain, 

Impetuous  in  their  flight. 
The  Indians,  all  with  bridle  slack, 
Fast  followed  on  the  bisons'  track, 

Yelling  in  high  delight. 

The  herd  plunged  fierce  and  fiercer  still, 
And  swept  along  the  rocky  hill, 

Wild  prancing  as  they  went. 
The  bold  Wyoming  kept  the  rear, 
Yet  up  rang  hopeful  shout  and  cheer 

And  laugh  of  merriment. 

The  noble  chief  his  lasso  drew, 
And  with  a  whirling  motion  threw, 

Circling  a  bison's  neck. 
His  comrades,  at  the  signal  word, 
Grappled  upon  the  tightened  cord, 

The  victim's  speed  to  check. 

Then  rose  again  a  boisterous  roar, 
More  wild,  more  deafening  than  before, 

And  more  discordant  tones. 
The  beast,  to  madness  driven,  at  length 
Jumped  and  tossed  writh  mightier  strength, 

Uprooting  grass  and  stones. 


TALAKEENA    AT  EVENING.  75 

At  last  the  lasso  snapped  like  thread  ; 
The  bison  sprang,  and  off  he  sped, 

Exulting  in  his  might ; 
But,  as  around  the  hill  he  dashed, 
Bold  Talakeena's  arrow  flashed, 

And  deadly  was  its  flight. 

TALAKEENA  AT  EVENING. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

O'er  Campbell's  Ledge  the  sun  had  flown, 
And  now  was  slowly  gliding  down 
Behind  the  western  mountain's  crown. 

Bold  Talakeena  saw  the  rays 

Glance  wild  into  the  valley  ; 
Brief  on  the  ledge  then  did  he  gaze, 
The  Red-man's  clock  which  shone  ablaze, 

Then  bade  his  braves  to  rally. 

And  at  the  word  the  trusty  band, 
With  lash  and  bridle  rein  in  hand, 

Sped  off  athwart  the  plain  ; 
And  though  the  day  had  wearied  all, 
Their  spirits  never  seemed  to  fall ; 

They  whooped  and  yelled  again. 

And  soon,  from  out  the  wood  near  by, 
There  fled  a  doe,  and  every  eye 

Lit  up  with  zest ; 
Three  hundred  lashes  cut  the  air, 
Three  hundred  voices  struck  despair 

Into  the  fleeing  beast. 

Though  fleet  the  steed  of  every  brave 
To  scale  the  crag,  to  stem  the  wave, 

To  speed  in  level  race, 
Bold  Talakeena's  mustang  burst 
Forth  from  the  throng,  triumphant,  first, 

And  led  the  flying  chase. 


76     TALAKEENA'S  BATTLE  WITH  THE  WHITE  MEX. 

TALAKEENA'S    BATTLE    WITH    THE    WHITE 

MEN. 

'Twas  eve,   and  the  sun,  all  aglow  in  the  west, 
Behind  the  wild  mountain  was  sinking  to  rest : 
O'er  the  high  peaks  it  lingered  ere  taking  its  flight, 
As  if  'twere  reluctant  to  leave  such  a  sight. 
It  lit  all  the  valley  with  beauty,  and  spread 
Its  smiles  o'er  the  river  which  sang  as  it  sped 
With  laugh  and  with  ripple  of  music  along  ; 
And  sweet  was  its  laughter,  and  sweet  was  its  song. 

The  valley  lay  smiling  in  Solitude's  arms, 

And  Nature,  though  falling  to  sleep,  gave  her  charms. 

The  air  hovered  motionless  over  the  glen, 

With  naught  to  disturb  it,  except,  now  and  then, 

When  the  hoot  of  an  owl  could  be  faintly  heard, 

Or  the  far-away  chirp  of  an  evening  bird. 

Or  the  sigh  or  the  voice  of  a  whispering  breeze, 

Breathing  its  fairy-like  melodies. 

Thus  Nature  dreamed  on  in  her  peaceful  repose  ; 

But  suddenly  up  from  the  river  there  rose 

A  sound  like  the  splashing  of  oars  on  the  stream, 

And  the  valley,  awaking,  broke  forth  from  her  dream — 

Forever  broke  forth,  for  soon  boat  after  boat 

Appeared  on  the  wave  like  an  arm}-  afloat ; 

Nearer  and  nearer  they  drew  to  the  land, 

And,  lo  !  a  small  fleet  struck  at  last  on  the  sand. 

Their  flags  are  unfurled,  and  their  banners  are  spread. 
With  their  crimson  and  gold  and  their  brilliant  red  ; 
And  beneath  the  clear  sun  waxes  brighter  their  sheen, 
As  triumphant  they  dance  o'er  the  beauteous  scene. 
The  white  man,  the  white  man,  he  conies  to  explore 
The  old  Susquehanna,  and  settle  her  shore  ; 
To  plunder  the  slumbering  Wyoming  vale, 
To  steal  her  fair  beauty  from  upland  and  dale. 


TAI.Ak'EENAS  BATTLE  WITH  THE  WHITE  MEN.    77 

First  hurried  the  women  and  children  astrand, 

Then  followed  the  men,  a  warlike  band, 

Fully  equipped  with  musket  and  lance 

To  fight  their  way  through  the  wild  expanse. 

They  drew  up  their  boats  on  the  river's  green  side, 

For  safety  there  from  the  dash  of  the  tide. 

No  word  was  spoken,  or  syllable  e'en  ; 

No  jocund  laugh  broke  the  pure  serene  ; 

Nor  a  smile  nor  a  frown  could  be  seen  on  a  face 

To  mar  the  soft  influence  of  the  place  ; 

But  they  stood  as  entranced  in  a  wondering  gaze, 

And  mutely  poured  forth  to  the  scenery  their  praise. 

But  lo  !  the  loud  trample  of  horses  was  heard  ! 

And  over  a  hillock,  all  dabbled  and  blurred 

With  blood  from  her  wounds,  sped  a  deer  in  alarm  ; 

She  shot  past  the  whites  without  scathe,  without  harm. 

Her  nostrils  were  spouting  out  blood  through  the  air, 

Her  large  eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  wore  a  wild  glare, 

And  within  those  orbs,  all  dilated  and  bleeding, 

There  shone  a  light  so  pathetic  and  pleading, 

Which  touched  and  melted  all  gazes  it  met, 

And  all  that  beheld  it  could  never  forget. 

On,  on  sped  the  doe  in  her  perilous  track, 

Flashing  her  terrified  glances  back  ; 

And  behind  dashed  the  Reds  at  a  furious  pace, 

And  bold  Talakeena  was  first  in  the  chase. 

But  when  he  beheld  the  intruders  so  near, 

He  ceased  his  pursuit  of  the  poor  panting  deer, 

And,  sitting  erect  on  his  foaming  steed, 

He  drew  on  his  bridle  and  slackened  his  speed  ; 

Then  wheeling  about  to  his  comrades,  he  said : — 

"  Behold  ye  yon  stranger,  nor  quail  ye,  nor  dread? 

O  warriors,  O  friends  !  who  here  would  be  braves  ? 

Who  here  would  be  cowards  ?  who  here  would  be  slaves  ? 

If  such  a  man  breathe  here,  quick  let  him  withdraw  ! 

Let  him  serpent-like  slink  !  let  him  live  as  a  squaw  ! 


78    TALAKEENA'S  BATTLE  WITH  THE  WHITE  MEN. 

If  freedom  ye  love,  O  my  warriors  true, 

That  freedom  this  hour  must  be  purchased  by  you  ! 

Yon  pale-face  invaders,  though  many  they  stand, 

At  once  we  must  scatter  and  drive  from  our  land  ; 

For  our  vale  and  for  Manito  charge  at  my  cry, 

And  ere  the  sun  sinks  we  will  conquer  or  die  !  ' ' 

IvO  !  sudden  he  uttered  a  war-whoop  so  shrill, 

That  echoed  and  re-echoed  over  the  hill  ; 

Then  down  like  a  whirlwind  of  fury  they  came, 

And  soon  were  enveloped  in  smoke  and  in  flame. 

The}-  sent  up  their  hoot,  and  their  curse,  and  their  yell  : 

They  plunged  like  fierce  demons  late  loosed  out  of  hell. 

The  white  men  stood  still  as  the  motionless  air, 

Some  ranged  in  a  line,  some  ranged  in  a  square  ; 

Calmly  the  charge  of  the  Indians  they  stayed, 

Calmly  they  checked  it  with  shot  and  with  blade. 

They  stood  like  a  rock,  till  their  foemen  drew  near, 

Then  smote  and  o'erwhelmed  them  with  musket  and  spear  ; 

Their  knowledge,  their  discipline,  weapon  and  shield, 

Made  them  the  victors,  the  lords  of  the  field. 

The  Red-men  fell  back,  but  again  did  they  try  ; 

They  mustered  to  charge,  they  charged  but  to  die. 

Twice  in  succession  they  led  the  attack, 

Twice  were  they  driven  demoralized  back, 

Leaving  all  mangled  the  most  of  their  men, 

Whose  riderless  chargers  dashed  off  through  the  glen. 

They  mustered  their  forces  once  more,  and  still  brave, 

For  one  final  charge  to  their  ' '  glory  or  grave  ; ' ' 

For  a  moment  their  devilish  tumult  seemed  quelled, 

For  a  moment  again,  and  they  cursed  and  they  yelled  ; 

Then  onward,  then  onward,  they  swept  and  were  led 

By  bold  Talakeena,  who  galloped  ahead. 

They  routed  the  square  that  the  white  men  had  formed, 

And,  darting  within  it,  they  battled  and  stormed, 

And  slaughtered,  with  terror  on  every  hand, 

Nigh  blasting  to  ruin  the  mighty  white  band. 


TALAKEEXA'S  BATTLE  WITH  THE  WHITE  MEN.    79 

Near,  near  was  their  goal !  near,  near  their  success  ! 
And  bright  was  the  glory  their  valor  might  bless. 
Alas,  for  the  white  men  !  alas,  for  their  skill  ! 
They  scattered,  they  fled,  and  they  mounted  the  hill  : 
They  strove  to  its  summit,  there  silent  they  stood, 
And  awaited  a  charge  from  the  men  of  the  wood. 

The  Red-men,  now  frenzied  with  hatred  and  pride, 

Impetuous,  clambered  the  hill's  rugged  side  ; 

Lo  !  sudden  a  yell  of  dismay  wildly  rang, 

While  bristled  the  arms  with  their  clatter  and  clang, 

For  down  rushed  the  whites  at  a  furious  run, 

Spreading  a  havoc  with  sabre  and  gun, 

Smiting  like  giants,  and,  careless  of  life, 

Shooting  and  mowing  their  way  through  the  strife  ; 

And  as  thundered  they  forth  their  explosion  and  stroke, 

The  field  became  veiled  in  a  curling  smoke, 

And  the  sharp  cry7  of  pain  and  agony's  3- ell 

Told  that  full  many  an  Indian  fell ; 

They  dropped  by  dozens,  they  writhed  in  gore, 

Tearing  the  grass,  to  breathe  no  more. 

Their  comrades  stood,  whooped,  then  away  they  fled, 

Some  falling  in  death  on  their  mangled  dead, 

Some  seeking  the  wood  in  their  utter  despair, 

Sending  their  shrieks  through  the  dismal  air  ; 

And  all  that  escaped  stole  away  to  the  heights, 

And  left  the  red  field  in  the  hands  of  the  whites. 

The  wild  and  fierce  battle  was  over  and  won  ; 

And  lo  !  on  the  hillside,  unhorsed  and  alone, 

Undaunted,  unscathed,  a  tall  Indian  stood, 

His  long  knife  still  dripped  with  his  enemies'  blood  ; 

His  hair  floated  wildly  about  on  the  air, 

As  if  in  defiance,  as  if  in  despair  ; 

No  shadow  of  fear  nor  of  shame  marred  his  face ; 

He  looked  on  defeat  without  thought  of  disgrace, 

But  his  haughty  lip  curled  with  a  bitter  scorn  ; 

He  seemed  the  noblest  chieftain  born. 


Ho  NONSENSE   AND   NOISE. 

His  proud  breast  was  heaving,  and  fast  came  his  breath, 
He  stood,  like  a  warrior,  waiting  his  death. 
The  white  men  approached  him,  he  threw  down  his  knife 
And  folded  his  arms  to  surrender  his  life. 
Then,  placing  his  hand  on  his  bosom,  he  said  : 
"Strike  here,  coward  pale-face,  yea,  I'm  not  afraid 
To  lie  with  my  comrades  in  death  and  in  gore, 
To  chase  the  wild  deer  and  the  bison  no  more. 
You  have  ruined  my  tribe,  my  valley,  my  all  ! 
Now  strike  at  my  heart !  I  am  ready  to  fall ! ' ' 
The  leader  then  turned  to  his  comrades  and  said  : — 
' '  The  courage  and  conduct  of  this  noble  red 
Are  worthy  of  praise  to  the  highest  degree, 
And  we  shall  most  certainly  let  him  go  free." 
He  said  to  the  chieftain,  "  Go,  go  where  you  will  !  " 
And  bold  Talakeena  descended  the  hill. 
Yet  undaunted  his  heart,  and  unconquered  his  pride, 
'Tvvas  for  vengeance  he  strode  toward  the  wild  mountain 
side. 

NONSENSE   AND   NOISE. 

O  say  what  you  may  against  nonsense  and  noise, 

But  give  a  good  proof  for  your  saying  ; 
For  my  part,  the  children,  the  girls  and  the  boys, 

Distract  the  worst  care  with  their  playing. 
And  what  were  this  life  if  a  noise,  now  and  then, 

Or  a  nonsense  should  not  break  the  quiet  ? 
Such  oft  has  been  sweetmeat  to  wisest  of  men, 

When  oppressed  by  their  heavier  diet. 
Alas  for  the  big  boy,  the  half-learned  man, 

The  old  maid,  and  the  young  high-school  lady  ! 
For  endure  children's  tumult  those  souls  never  can  ; 

Thus  their  dignity  waxes  more  shady. 
Then  here's  to  the  children,  the  girls  and  the  boys  ; 

I  will  join  with  their  laughing  and  playing  ; 
And  say  what  you  may  against  nonsense  and  noise, 

But  give  a  good  proof  for  your  saying. 


THE    PIG   AND    THE    DRUNKARD.  8 1 

WEKP   NOT. 

IX    MEMORY    OF    MR.    W.    C. 

Weep  not,  weep  not  for  the  fond,  fond  one 
Whose  toils  are  o'er  and  whose  race  is  run  ! 
For  happier  far  is  that  lasting  sleep 
Than  all  the  joys  that  life's  treasures  keep. 
Weep  not,  weep  not  for  our  absent  friend  ; 

Weep  not,  weep  not  for  his  early  doom, 
But  let  the  dews  from  the  heavens  descend, 

And  like  tears  from  the  angels,  besprinkle  his  tomb. 
Let  music  flow  soft,  and  let  roses  be  strown, 
As  a  token  of  love  to  the  soul  that  is  flown  ; 
Xor  weep,  nor  mourn,  but  murmur  a  prayer 
That  shall  echo  in  heaven,  and  gladden  him  there. 
()  his  are  the  sighs  that  delight's  bosom  heaves  ! 

O  his  is  a  soul  that  shall  sorrow  no  more  ! 
But  alas  !  ah,  alas  !  for  the  widow  that  grieves  ! 

The  lorn,  lorn  heart  that  is  left  to  deplore. 
Could  the  angels  have  looked  from  their  sphere  above 
And  gazed  on  his  acts  of  swreet  duty  and  love, 
They  joyous  would  sing  in  that  realm  of  bliss, 
And  receive  to  their  choir  a  good  spirit  from  this. 
Weep  not,  weep  not  for  the  soul  that  is  .fled  ; 

Weep  not  for  the  friend  that  shall  greet  us  no  more, 
But  sigh  for  the  lorn  heart  that  grieves  o'er  her  dead, 

The  sad,  sad  heart  that  is  left  to  deplore. 

THE  PIG  AND  THE  DRUNKARD. 

One  day  in  a  mud-hole  there  wallowed  a  pig, 

With  his  brother,  the  drunkard  beside  him  ; 
And  a  preacher,  while  passing,  gave  each  a  hard  dig, 

And  coolly  remarked,  as  he  eyed  him, — 
"  This  maxim  of  old  \vill  forever  hold  good, 

'  By  his  company  one  may  be  known  :  ' 
Then  straightway  the  pig  fled  as  fast  as  he  could, 

With  a  certain  respect  of  his  own. 


82  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  SCHOOL   DAYS. 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  SCHOOL  DAYS. 

TO  F.    M. 

O  there  are  bards  who've  waked  the  string 

A  lay  of  cupid's  own  to  sing, 

And  though  the  harp  hath  oft  unstrung 

Long  ere  the  theme  was  fully  sung, 

Yet  whether  broke  or  whether  loose 

The  lay  went,  aided  by  the  muse, 

Far,  far  o'er  rapture's  height  ascending, 

And  at  a  lofty  climax  ending. 

If  love-lay  to  great  bards  be  such 
That  wakes  ecstatic  by  the  touch, 
And  e'en  when  reft  of  music's  wings, 
Still  onward  soars,  still  onward  sings, 
Then  from  a  harp  like  mine  one  sound 
Of  worth,  at  least,  must  needs  resound. 

If  such  be  true,  then  muse  to  me, 
And  aid  me  in  my  minstrelsy  ; 
For  next  to  Cupid's  is  my  theme — 
'Tis  friendship,  of  my  youth  a  dream. 

0  Frank,  my  friend,  'tis  sweet  to  think 
Of  times,  of  school-days  that  are  o'er, 

When  memories,  with  their  magic  link 
Joys  unto  joys  that  are  no  more. 

'Tis  sweet  to  contemplate  the  hours 

When  boyhood  plucked  life's  thornless  flowers, 

And  held  them  in  his  grasp  ; 
But  sweeter  far  it  is  to  me 
To  meet  once  more,  and  fervently, 

A  schoolmate's  eager  clasp. 

1  dreamed  a  wakeful  dream  last  night, 
A  dream  that  I  have  often  dreamed  : 

Again  I  drank  of  youth's  delight — 
What  an  elysium  it  seemed. 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF  SCHOOL    DAYS.  83 

While  wandering  in  this  joyous  trance, 

Back  to  the  old  school  I  returned, 
And  there  I  met  full  many  a  glance 

And  many  a  soul  that  wanton  burned, 
And  many  a  heart  and  many  a  hand 

That  I  had  often  met  before  ; 
The  school-boys  in  a  laughing  band 

Greeted  me  at  the  open  door. 

And  there  amidst  the  merry  throng 

Came  Malcolm,  frolicking  along — 

Malcolm,  the  merriest  of  the  group, 

With  his  ringing  laugh  and  his  ringing  whoop — 

Malcolm,  the  buxom,  blithesome  boy, 

Whose  very  self  was  a  bubbling  joy. 

O  blest  the  hour  !  O  blest  the  minute 

When  school-boy  clasps  a  school-boy  friend  ! 
What  fleetness  then  the  day  has  in  it ! 

It  comes,  'tis  here,   'tis  at  an  end. 
Mere  friendship's  voice  and  touch  may  dart 
A  pleasure  through  the  dullest  heart, 

A  pleasure,  sweet,  exquisite  ; 
But  sweeter,  more  exquisite  still, 
The  trembling  joy,  the  magic  thrill, 
To  hear  the  voice,  to  feel  the  touch 
Of  friends  by  us  beloved  so  much — 

A  nameless  transport  is  it. 
Thus  happy  interchanged  we  greetings, 

I  and  that  laughing  school-boy  band  ; 
Yet  still,  O  still  I  craved  more  meetings 

Of  throbbing  heart  and  thrilling  hand. 

Slowly  the  bevy  turned  away  ; 
Hither  and  thither  scattered  they, 
Some  to  their  books,  and  some  to  play, 
While  up  went  shout  and  wild  halloo, 
And  merry  peals  of  laughter,  too  : 
Thus  did  they  romp  and  wanton  on, 
And,  sighing,  I  thought  myself  alone. 


84  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  SCHOOL    DAYS. 

A  laugh  of  music  charmed  my  ear  ; 

I  turned,  and  Malcolm  still  was  near. 

His  voice  in  wild  endearment  rung, 

And  to  the  accents  sweet  I  clung  ; 

And  I  blest  that  heart,  and  I  blest  that  tongue. 

Smiling  a  sweetly  happy  smile, 

I  grasped  his  hand,  and  said  the  while, 

"  Laugh  on,  laugh  on,  while  laugh  you  may, 

My  boy,  with  heart  so  full  of  glee  ; 
And  may  such  friendship  hold  its  sway 

For  aye  within  that  bosom  free. 
Laugh  on,  laugh  on  in  all  your  joy  ! 
Be  e'er  a  merry  laughing  boy.  " 
Then,  arm  in  arm,  slow  strayed  we  o'er 

The  shady  gravel  walk. 
As  we  had  often  strayed  before, 

With  many  a  friendly  talk. 
And  sad,  yet  strangely  sweet  it  seemed, 

As  thoughtfully  we  trod, 
To  think  that  there  my  boyhood  dreamed, 

And  pressed  the  self-same  sod. 
But  lo  !  there  soon  appeared  a  lad 

With  pale  and  thoughtful  face  ; 
Yet  a  cheerful  tone  his  clear  voice  had, 

And  his  hand  a  warm  embrace  ; 
Still  wore  he  that  pale  thoughtful  look, 
As  if  he  meant  to  write  a  book, 

And  wonders  in  it  trace. 
"Ellis,"  sighed  I,  "Ellis,  dear," 

Holding  his  hand  in  mine, 
"  Thou  wert  e'er  here,  thou  still  art  here, 

Haunting  this  haunt  of  thine. 

' '  How  oft  have  we  together  strayed 
To  spend  the  evening  in  thought  ; 

How  oft  at  noontide  'neath  the  shade 
Into  the  depths  of  lore  we've  sought ; 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF  SCHOOL    DAYS. 

How  often,  O  how  often  still 
Have  we  delighted —     "  here  a  thrill 
Of  joy  my  spirit  overwrought. 

Then  stood  we  still,  no  word  was  spoke, 
But  Ellis  fond  the  silence  broke  ; 
His  joyful  heart  bade  words  to  speed, 
And  they  were  hearty  words  indeed. 

Then  smiled  we,  and  then  moved  on, 
Conversing  in  a  happy  tone  ; 
Still  craved  my  heart  for  something  yet — 
One  friend  remained  I  had  not  met. 

Just  then  a  violin  was  heard, 
Now,  like  the  warbling  of  a  bird, 
Now,  like  a  brook  between  the  hills, 
And  now,  like  distant  mountain  rills, 
And  then,  like  an  angel  did  it  seem, 
And  then  like  a  demon  in  his  dream. 

One  momemt  stood  I  overjoyed, 
One  moment  stood  I  in  a  trance, 

One  more  the  spell  was  all  destroyed, 
The  air  my  voice  cut  like  a  lance. 

"  O,  Fra  Diavalo  !  "   I  cried, 

"O,  Fra  Diavalo  !  " 
The  music  ceases,  footsteps  glide, 

And  Frank  is  here  below. 

O,  Frank  !  but  think  what  joy  was  ours. 

As,  straying  arm  in  arm, 
We  talked  of  by-gone  happy  hours, 
When  culled  we  boy  hood's  choicest  flowers, 

And  revelled  in  their  charm. 

When  turned  we  all  we  knew  to  fun, 
Turned  we  to  sport  our  gravest  lore  ; 

Then  sighed  we  at  our  knowledge  spun, 
And  sighed  we  that  we  knew  no  more. 


86  RECOLLECTIONS    OF  SCHOOL    DAYS. 

O  what  a  pleasure  memory  gives 
When  memory's  real  actors  meet ; 

The  dim  past  in  the  present  lives, 
And  every  act  is  good  and  sweet. 

Thus  roamed  we  on,  how  brief  did  seem 
The  moments  as  they  glided  ; 

But  soon,  too  soon  dissolved  my  dream, 
My  storm  of  joy  subsided. 

Then  sad  and  sadder  grew  my  soul, 
While  veiling  gloom'iiess  round  me  stole; 
For,  friend,  these  words  are  from  his  lips 
Who  keen  the  sweets  of  friendship  sips, 
Who  even  in  heaven  should  despair 
Could  friends  of  his  not  meet  him  there. 

Nor  scorn  the  bosom  fond  that  burns 

And  for  another  bosom  yearns. 

The  tender  heart,  like  tender  vine, 

Round  something  near  it  needs  must  twine  ; 

And  separate  them  if  you  will, 

They'll  keep  their  former  semblance  still. 

Alas,  alas  !  for  breasts  that  feel 

No  thrill  of  friendship  through  them  steal ! 

Alas,  alas  !  too,  for  the  heart 

That  never  throbs  to  Cupid's  dart  ! 

For  love  and  friendship  nobly  given 

Are  blessings  from  the  throne  of  heaven  ; 

Friendship  and  love,  twin  sanctities, 

O  what  could  heaven  give  more  than  these  ? 

But  Frank,  morn  smiles  !  the  moments  fly, 

And  I  must  off  to  industry. 

The  hours  of  toil  each  other  chase, 

And  I  must  enter  in  the  race 

To  sow  and  reap  what  good  I  can  ; 

Such  is  the  duty  of  a  man. 


TO   MY  SISTER   MAY.  87 

Farewell,  these  lips  that  failed  to  tell 
Even  half  the  warmth,  the  glow,  I  feel, 
Even  half  the  worth  of  friendship's  weal, 
Xow  tremble  forth  a  fond  farewell. 

MY  SOUL. 

As  the  sunshine  feeds  the  flower 

And  smiles  it  into  beauty, 
So  did  childhood's  fire  empower 

My  soul  with  love  and  duty. 

As  the  mountain  oak  is  marred, 

All  knotted  by  the  storm, 
So  my  soul  by  sin  is  scarred 

And  twisted  out  of  form. 

TO    MY  SISTER   MAY, 

ON  HER  FOURTEENTH  BIRTHDAY. 

Again  the  Christmas  bells  awake, 

Again  their  flight  the  echoes  take 

From  every  turret,  tower  and  steeple, 

Flinging  a  gladness  to  the  people, 

Whose  hearts,  while  listening  to  the  chime, 

Have  voices  in  them  keeping  time — 

Voices  that  speak,  and  speak  again 

Of  "  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men  !  " 

Again  the  hills  are  white  with  snow, 
And  wild  as  fourteen  years  ago, 
When,  as  a  blessing  from  above, 
A  Christmas  gift  of  joy  and  love 
Entered  our  household,  and  with  smile 
And  laugh  'gan  straightway  to  beguile 
Our  hearts  from  care,  the  hours  to  speed, 
And  I  a  sister  had,  indeed. 


TO   MY  SISTER   MAY. 

The  seasons  fierce  have  o'er  thee  blown, 
And  still  thy  smiles  are  brighter  grown  ; 
But  the  same  fourteen  winters  dark 
That  breathed  on  thee  and  fanned  the  spark 
Of  life  which  glowed  in  thy  slight  frame, 
Kindling  it  into  ardent  flame, 
On  my  breast  blew  an  icy  breath, 
And  quenched  the  fire  that  burned  beneath. 
I  hoped  as  you  now  hope,  but  fast 
Withered  each  hope  before  the  blast 
Of  pitiless  adversity. 

Friends  of  my  heart  were  torn  from  me — 
You  knew  Glycsea,  ever  true 
Playmate  of  yours  and  mine,  but  you, 
Merely  an  infant,  could  not  know 
What  ardor  made  her  bosom  glow. 
Then  O  how  lovely  Anna  bloomed  ! 
How  her  sweet  smile  and  glance  illumed 
With  joy  the  face  on  which  they  shone  ! 
But  both,  alas,  are  faded — flown  ! 
Glycsea  'neath  yon  snow-drift  sleeps, 
There  where  the  lonely  willow  weeps  ; 
And  Anna  hath  her  cold,  cold  grave 
By  L,ackawanna's  wild-voiced  wave. 
Such  grief  it  was,  and  more,  far  more 
Than  e'er  was  dreamt,  that  gnawed  the  core 
Of  my  seared  heart  with  pangs  untold, 
And  made  me  as  I  am,  so  old, 
And  rent  the  chasm  that  intervenes 
Our  ages — both  are  in  our  teens  ; 
I  end  them,  thou  dost  but  begin  ; 
Thine  is  pure  youth,  and  mine  gray  sin. 
Time  was  when  sunny  smiles  were  mine, 
Sunny  and  good,  my  May,  as  thine  ; 
When  I,  with  blithesome  heart  and  gay, 
Could  laugh  another's  gloom  away, 


TO    MY  SISTER   MA  Y.  89 

Free  as  the  butterfly  I  chased, 

And  just  as  wild  ;  my  mind  embraced 

Things  joyful,  and  dispelled  the  sad  ; 

And  every  day  brought  something  glad. 

But  now,  what  am  I  ?     The  mere  wreck 

Of  sweet  hours,  when  nor  rein  could  check, 

Nor  hand  could  tame,  nor  tongue  reprove, 

Joy's  slave,  and  votary  of  love. 

Vet,  why  thus  idly  prate  ?     You  know 

The  story  of  my  weal  and  woe  ! 

Far  better  'twere  for  me  to  state 

How  you  might  shun  a  brother's  fate. 

Live  in  the  present  and,  with  care, 

Blessings  for  future  days  prepare, 

Nor  let  thy  mind  take  idle  wings, 

To  dally  over  by-gone  things, 

Letting  the  living  moments  fly — 

The  golden  moments — ah,  'tis  I 

That  have  the  right  to  give  advice  ! 

And  let,  ay,  let  my  word  suffice  ! 

But  for  thy  prototype  in  life 

0  take  not  me  ;  my  long-lived  strife 
Hath  been  a  retrospection  mere, 

A  backward  gaze,  a  sigh,  a  tear  ; 
For  mine  hath  ever  been  to  moan 
The  times  and  pleasures  that  are  flown, 
The  friends  whose  lots  with  mine  were  cast ; 
My  heart,  my  being  is  in  the  past. 
E'en  when  a  boy  how  oft  I  strayed 
Off  from  my  comrades,  as  they  played, 
And  sought  remote  sequestered  bowers, 
There  to  regret  my  childhood  hours  ; 
And  when  a  child,  at  eventide, 
How  for  the  morning's  fun  I  sighed  ; 
How,  when  awake  at  break  of  day, 

1  wept  the  joys  of  yesterday. 


90    ENTOMBED  MIXERS  AT  SOUTH  WILR'ESBARRE. 

All  this  was  weakness,  and  the  fruit 
Was  thorns  ;  the  fault  thou  may'st  impute 
To  wanton  will ;  such  habits  shun. 
By  present  action  most  is  won  ; 
Thy  heart  to  goodly  deeds  atune  ; 
Goodness  can  not  be  used  too  soon, 
For  fast,  ah,  fast  a  life  is  run, 
It  ends  before  'tis  well  begun. 

But  this  is  Christmas  day,  and  I 

Do  naught  but  preach,  complain  and  sigh, 

When  joy,  enthroned  within  my  heart, 

Its  thrill  to  others  should  impart. 

Come,  I  will  smile  and  sing  to-day, 

And  join  the  children  in  their  play, 

Whilst  thou,  whose  tones  disperse  the  sadness, 

Wilt  laugh  my  Christmas  into  gladness. 

ENTOMBED    COAL   MINERS   AT  SOUTH 
WIIvKESBARRE. 

A  SONG,  WRITTEN  BY   THE    REQUEST  OF   J.    M.    ESQ. 

O  why  do  the  women  and  children  despair 

As  they  gather  on  yonder  fair  slope  ? 
Can  it  be  that  grim  death  is  a  reveler  there — 

The  blaster  of  many  a  hope  ? 
How  they  weep,  as  they  stare  at  the  shaft  below, 

Where  the  creaking  ropes  deepen  the  gloom, 
And  the  black  tower  frowns  like  a  spectre  foe  ! 
Ah,  the  poor  bereaved  bosoms  groan  loud  in  their  woe  ! 

For  their  dear  ones  are  deep  in  that  tomb. 

CHORUS : 

They  despair,  they  despair  !  and  the  teardrops  fall  fast, 
But  they  weep  and  they  sorrow  in  vain  ; 

For  their  loved  ones  are  cast  like  the  leaves  in  the  blast, 
And  they  never  shall  meet  them  again. 


Kl'ENING   IN  SUMMER.  gi 

That  woman,  all  frantic,  why  laughs  she  so  wild? 

Her  husband,  alas,  is  no  more  ! 
And  mad  now  she  sings  to  her  innocent  child  ; 

Ay,  she  laughs  wrhile  her  neighbors  deplore. 
And  there  sorrows  a  mother,  distracted  and  lorn, 

And  a  father  with  grief  is  o'ercome  ; 
They  grieve  for  a  son  who,  at  early  morn, 
With  a  smile  waved  his  hand,  then  away  was  torn, 

Forever,  forever  from  home. 
CHO. — They  despair,  they  despair  !  etc. 

O  the  cold-hearted  lords  of  black  diamond  hills ! 

Though  they  hold  the  poor  miner  a  slave, 
How  little  they  guard  against  dangers  and  ills, 

Ere  the  mine  is  turned  into  a  grave  ! 
Even  now  how  little  they  care  for  the  tears 

Of  the  widows  who  wail  in  their  woe  ! 
And  the  moans  of  fond  parents  fall  not  on  their  ears  ! 
But  unheeded  those  mourners  o'er  tenantless  biers 

Hand  in  hand  with  lank  poverty  go. 
CHO. — They  despair,  they  despair  !  etc. 

EVENING  IN  SUMMER. 

The  sun,  with  outstretched  golden  wing, 

Descends  with  splendor  fierce  ;  and  now 

He  fades  on  the  horizon's  brow, 
With  all  the  grandeur  following. 
The  sweet-voiced  birds  no  longer  sing  ; 

But  owls  and  tree- toads  from  the  bough 

Pour  forth  their  dismal  sounds  below, 
Whence  echoes,  just  as  dismal,  ring. 
Now  deep  and  deeper  grows  the  shade 

On  twilight's  robes  of  purple  haze, 

Which  thicken  silently,  and  fall 
With  awe  that  makes  me  half  afraid, 
And  prompts  my  soul  to  utter  praise 

To  him  that  watcheth  over  all. 


92  CALEPSYCHE. 

CALEPSYCHE. 

"  O  Calepsyche  !     Calepsyche  !  " 

This  I  uttered, 
My  wild  heart  bleeding,  aching, 

As  it  fluttered,  fluttered,  fluttered, 
When,  from  sleep  awaking, 

Up  I  started, 
In  time  to  know  my  heart  was  breaking  : 

In  dreamland  we  had  parted  ! 
Calepsyche  !     Calepsyche ! 

0  my  lost,  lost  Calepsyche  ! 

Thy  face  beamed  forth  celestial  whiteness; 

All  thy  form  was  starry  brightness, 

Thou  hast  left  my  heart  all  blightness, 
Calepsyche  ! 

Beauteous,  radiant  Calepsyche 
' '  O  Calepsyche  !     ' '  Calepsyche  ! ' ' 

This  I  uttered  when  awaking, 

As  I  felt  my  heart-strings  breaking. 
In  dreamland  we  had  met  and  parted, 
She  the  pure,  the  simple  hearted  ; 
O,  the  bliss  her  lips  imparted  ! 
The  goodness  which  her  glances  darted  ! 

She  spake  her  name  ;  that  name  I  caught  not  ! 

But  the  sound  my  soul  forgot  not ; 

Such  sweet  music  Orpheus  taught  not. 

Her  magic  name  I  knew  not,  sought  not, 
But  I  named  her  Calepsyche  ! 
Calepsyche  !     Calepsyche  ! 
O,  my  wondrous  Carepsyche, 

With  beauty  as  fair  as  the  sunlit  air  ! 
Hast  thou  dissolved  to  a  thought  of  sweetness  ? 

O,  dream  of  a  breath,  whose  flight  gives  me  death! 
Why  hast  thou  blasted  my  heart;  by  thy  fleetness  ? 

Yet  high  by  the  throne  of  heaven, 

When  bliss  to  me  is  given, 

1  shall  behold  my  Calepsj-che  ! 
Beauteous,  radiant  Calepsyche  ! 


LI. YES  FOR   AN  AUTOGRAPH  ALBUM.  93 

GOOD-BYE,    MY  FRIEND. 

TO    CLEMATIS. 

Good-bye  my  friend,  a  short  good-bye  ! 

And  though  I  sigh  in  pain, 
I'd  bid  thy  bosom  not  to  sigh  ; 

We  soon  shall  meet  again. 

We  soon  shall  meet — O  hopeful  thought, 

Thou  cheat' st  a  bitter  sorrow  ! 
For  if  this  hope  thou  had'st  not  brought, 

I  scarce  could  brook  the  morrow. 
But  we  shall  meet,  my  loving  boy, 

So  dash  those  tears  away  ; 
My  breast  is  pained  when  ought  but  joy 

Thy  big  warm  drops  obey. 

Come,  I  will  kiss  thy  burning  cheek, 

And  then  thine  eye  may  dry. 
Now,  let  thy  voice  of  music  speak  ; 

We'll  sigh  a  fond  good-bye. 

Good-bye,  my  friend,  a  short  good-bye  ! 

My  memory  sweet  retain  ; 
Nor  sigh  nor  weep,  for  thou  and  I 

Shall  meet,  O  soon  again. 

LINES  FOR  AN  AUTOGRAPH  ALBUM. 

O,  as  you  read  these  lines,  my  dear, 

When  years  have  glided  by, 
Still  think  of  him  that  wrote  them  here, 

Still  breathe  for  him  a  sigh. 

FOR  THE  SAME. 

What  !  write  my  name  upon  this  page  ? 

Thou  hast  o'erwhelmed  me  quite. 
Not  that  thy  charms  do  not  engage, 

No,  no,  but  I  can't  write  ! 


94  TO   MISS  M. 

TO  MISS  M. 

WHO,     AT    OUR     FIRST    MEETING,     REQUESTED     ME    TO 
ADDRESS    HER    A    POEM. 

O  many  a  minstrel  hath  been  swayed 
To  ecstacy  by  lovely  maid. 

To  whose  fond  word  and  fond  desire 

He  breathed  his  soul's  intensest  fire  : 
But  they,  ah,  they  sent  looks  that  stole 
A  secret  thrill  from  soul  to  soul — 

A  thrill  called  love,  whose  mystic  art 

Let  each  into  the  other's  heart. 

Such,  such  has  been,  and  such  shall  be, 

So  long  as  love  is  poesy  ; 

But,  ah,  my  fair  one,  how,  I  pray, 
Can  thy  fond  wish  hold  magic  sway 

O'er  my  dull  soul,  or  e'en  give  birth 

To  thoughts  that  waft  a  sweetness  forth, 
When  thus  to  thee  my  heart's  unknown, 
And  I  am  stranger  to  thy  own  ? 

Had  e'er  our  souls  each  other  showed, 
Had  e'er  our  breaths  commingling  glowed, 
And  had  thy  blushing  face,  the  while, 
Broke  into  dimples  with  thy  smile, 
And  had  thy  voice,  thy  sigh,  thy  kiss, 
Added  their  music  to  my  bliss, 
O  then  could  all  my  rapture  spring  ! 
Then,  then  could  I  thy  praises  sing  ! 

But  no  ;  'tis  idle  thus  to  run. 

With  wanton  tongue,  in  song  to  one 

Whose  touch  is  strange,  whose  voice  is  strange  ; 

Yet  voice  and  touch,  in  time,  may  change  ! 

However,  here's  a  fond  farewell  : 

And  though  we're  strangers,  I  might  tell 

I've  caught  one  joy  to  bliss  akin, 

A  glimpse  of  thy  sweet  self  within. 


GLYCsKA.  95 

AN  ANSWER. 

ON     BEING     ASKED   WHY    SO     MANY     VERSES     WERE 
ADDRESSED    TO     CLEMATIS. 

What  !  ask  me,  dunce,  why  more  than  once 

I've  sung  to  young  Clematis  ? 
My  songs  read'st  thou.     Thy  question,  now, 

But  shows  how  dull  thy  pate  is. 

TO  PHOEBE. 

0  Phoebe,  thine  was  cruel  wrong, 
Hinting  that  I  should  take  to  song  ! 
For  fatal,  fatal  proved  thy  hints  — 

1  have  been  singing  ever  since  ! 


O  fled  is  Glyciea,  too  tender  for  grief, 

And  too  good  for  the  world  we  have  here  ; 
She  withered  away  like  a  frost-bitten  leaf, 
And  her  spirit  is  gone,  'tis  my  happy  belief, 
To  inhabit  some  heavenlier  sphere. 

How  the  hearts  the  beloved  of  her  bosom  unite, 

At  times,  and  commingle  their  tears, 
And  sorrow  for  one  who  robbed  gloom  from  the  night, 
Who  smiled,  and  the  cloudiest  day  appeared  bright, 

And  whose  voice  was  a  balm  to  the  ears. 

No  more,  ah,  no  more  will  her  beauty  endear  ! 

No  more  will  her  smile  chase  the  gloom  ! 
And  never  again  will  her  voice  charm  the  ear  ; 
And  never  again  will  she  calm  our  worst  fear, 

For  they've  hid  her  away  in  the  tomb. 

O  they've  hid  her  away  in  the  willow  tree's  shade, 

Where  the  mosses  are  burdened  with  snow  ; 
And  I  know  she'd  complain  of  the  grave  where  she's  laid, 
For  'tis  lonely  and  cold,  ah,  too  cold  for  a  maid, 
Whose  heart  like  Glycoea's  could  glow. 


g6  TO    CLEMATIS. 

TO  CAUJE. 

There  are  times  when  a  note  to  the  bosom  may  dart, 
Where,  in  after  years,  yet  it  can  thrill ; 

Even  so  may  this  wish  wing  its  way  to  thy  heart, — 
When  I'm  absent,  O  think  of  me  still. 

TO  CLEMATIS. 

Clematis  when  we  sighed  farewell, 
I  thought  'twas  for  a  fortnight  only  ; 

Hope  of  soon  meeting  gave  the  spell 

Which  kept  my  heart  from  growing  lonely. 

But  now  that  hope  has  turned  to  fear, 

That  spell  has  ceased  its  charmed  endeavor, 

And  in  my  throbbing  heart  I  hear 

The  knell  that  we  shall  meet,  ah,  never  ! 

Weep  not,  dear  boy,  I  don't  impart 
These  words  to  set  thy  bosom  aching  ; 

They're  but  the  echos  of  my  heart, 

And  it  but  moans  because  'tis  breaking. 

Yet  why  thus  moan  ?     Have  I  no  hope  ? 

A  dim  spark  gleams,  but  half  averted, 
Which  with  my  gloominess  cannot  cope, 

But  makes  me  feel  the  more  deserted. 

O  !  if  our  hands  should  never  meet, — 
Ah,  now  my  pangs  find  vent  in  weeping  ! 

This  boon  I  ask:  that  memory  sweet 
Of  me  may  keep  thy  love  from  sleeping. 

But  as  for  me,  Clematis  mine, 

My  love  for  thee  can  ne'er  be  clouded  ; 

Ere  thoughts  of  thee  can  cease  to  shine, 
My  mem'ry's  self  must  be  enshrouded. 


TRUE   HAPPINESS.  97 

ON   THE    BANKS   OF  SUSQUEHANNA. 

TO    THE    TUXE    OF    "  ALLEN   WATER." 

On  the  banks  of  Susquehanna, 

'Mid  Wyoming's  fairest  bowers, 
Smiled  and  bloomed  my  lovely  Anna, 

Sister  of  the  flowers. 
Like  the  laugh  of  Lackawanna 

Was  her  voice  to  sing  or  speak  ; 
Like  the  smiles  on  Susquehanna 

Dimpled  bright  her  cheek. 

On  the  banks  of  Susquehanna, 

As  the  day  began  to  fade, 
O  how  blest  was  I  with  Anna  ! 

How  enrapt  we  strayed  ! 
From  my  bower  to  Lackawanna 

By  no  rose  was  she  out-bloomed  ; 
By  the  sheen  on  Susquehanna 

Was  her  youth  illumed. 

On  the  banks  of  Susquehanna 

Winged  a  fever's  withering  flight  ; 
Then,  ah,  then  was  lost  my  Anna — 

Day  to  me  was  night  ! 
Now  I  haunt  wild  Lackawanna, 

Where  her  voice  the  ripples  give  ; 
Still  I  stray  by  Susquehanna — 

There  her  bright  smiles  live. 

TRUE   HAPPINESS. 

Be  happy,  be  happy,  I  bid  the  sad  mind, 

But  learn  what  true  happiness  is  : 
When  a  dutiful  man  has  a  heart  good  and  kind, 

True  happiness  surely  is  his. 


y'J/   GROWING    OLD. 

MY   REPENTANCE. 

Ah,  once  I  tried  some  wit  to  spin  ! 

It  weighs  on  me  like  tons,  sir  ; 
O  'twas  an  error  worse  than  sin, 

A  rhyme  bedecked  with  puns,  sir. 
But  once  I've  punned,  and  only  once  ; 

No  more  that  sin  shall  shame  me  ; 
Such  sickly  wit  befits  the  dunce — 

And  dunce  was  I  ;  don't  blame  me. 
Yea,  that's  a  solace  to  my  pain, 

But  once  my  puns  have  hurt  me  : 
And  if  I  ever  pun  again, 

Lord,  may  the  muse  desert  me. 

I'M   GROWING   OLD. 

I'm  growing  old,  I'm  growing  old, 

Yet  scarce  my  youth  is  fled  ; 
The  heart  which  burned  so  wild  is  cold. 

The  fire  within  is  dead. 
There  was  a  time  when  this  weak  frame 

Knew  love's  intensest  glow, 
And  fondest  chords  caught  up  the  flame, 

And  fondest  thoughts  would  flow. 
I'm  growing  old,  I'm  growing  old. 

My  soul  is  ribbed  with  sin  ; 
And  no  one  knows  how  dark  and  cold 

My  bosom  is  within. 
They  say  my  hair  is  just  as  black, 

And  just  as  smooth  my  brow, 
But,  ah  !  they  know  not  what  a  wrack 

Lies  prostrate  in  me  now. 
I'm  growing  old,  I'm  growing  old, 

Though  few  have  been  my  years, 
But  many  they've  seemed,  and  long  and  cold, 

I've  traced  them  with  mv  tears. 


EPISTLE    TO   F.    M.  99 

Yet  friends  will  say  I'm  young  and  hale, 

I'm  but  a  boy  to-day  ; 
Ah,  could  they  hear  my  life's  long  tale, 

They'd  know  my  age  is  gray. 

I'm  growing  old,  I'm  growing  old, 

My  early  friends  are  flown  ; 
Of  all  that  happy  race,  I'm  told 

That  I  remain  alone. 
My  life,  alas,  is  off  its  course  ! 

Its  music  out  of  tune, 
Its  glowing  spring  consumed  my  force, 

Its  autumn  came  in  June. 

I'm  growing  old,  I'm  growing  old, 

Yet  why  my  fate  deplore  ? 
Rolls  not  the  world  as  e'er  it  rolled  ? 

Why  mourn  the  days  of  yore  ? 
'Tis  I,  and  not  the  world,  that's  wrong  ; 

Man  make's  his  rain  or  shine  ; 
Then  O  let  duty  be  my  song  ! 

And  happiness  is  mine. 

EPISTLE  TO   F.    M. 

A    RHAPSODY. 

(K.   M.,  nick-named  "  Fra  Diavolo,"  a  musician,  who,  taking  a  sudden  turn  of 
mind,  began  preparations  for  college.) 

Carol,  O  muse,  and  aid  the  flow 

Of  song  to  Fra  Diavolo  ; 

And  thou,  my  Fra,  prick  well  thine  ear, 

For  sense  and  nonsense  scribbled  here. 

Fear  not  these  lines,  though  some  might  dread  them, 

Yet  thee  I'd  warn  ere  thou  hast  read  them, 

"  If  thou  hast  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them," 

For  never  since  primeval  age, 

Has  such  a  doggerel  blurred  a  page. 

Full  curious  am  I  to  know 

How  now  thy  precious  moments  go. 


100  EPISTLE    TO    F.    M. 

How  is  thy  present  situation  ? 

What  is  thy  present  occupation  ? 

Is  thine  glad  joy,  or  sad  damnation, 

Writing  some  wild  instrumentation, 

Or  trying  to  memorize,  verbatim, 

Amo,  'are,  'az'i,  'a/um  ? 

Art  thou  in  arms  against  the  Greek, 

While  brain  grows  hot,  and  courage  weak, 

Trying  to  find  the  reason  why 

Phero  turns  into  oisomai  ? 

Methinks  I  see— Ha  !  ha  !  but  O, 
Forgive,  I  pray,  this  sudden  flow 
Of  merriment — I  seem  to  see — 

Ha  !  ha  !     I  run,  but  fun  runs  after, 
And  though  the  fiends  should  kidnap  me, 

I  could  not  now  restrain  my  laughter. 
Be  calm,  my  soul,  and  sit  thou  still, 
Show  thy  good  breeding  and  good  will, 
Nor  laugh,  nor  squeak  like  one  insane, 
But  let  me  once  begin  again. 
O  Frank,  I  see  you  as  you  go, 
Pacing  the  pavement  to  and  fro, 
With  stiff  and  measured  tread,  as  one 
That  wears  gay  clothes  and  bears  a  gun  ; 
Ay,  and  a  dangerous  look  you  show7, 
Forward  and  backward,  as  you  go, 
With  footsteps  by  the  bricks  betinkled, 
With  hair  erect,  and  forehead  wrinkled, 
With  face  all  pale  and  dank  and  sprinkled, 
With  mind  in  critical  condition, 
Wrestling  by  main  strength  and  ambition 
Some  geometric  proposition. 

IyO  !  suddenly  there's  heard  a  cry, 

"  Come  to  the  parlor,  friends  are  here  !  " 

The  answer  is  a  saw-mill  sigh 

And,  martyr-like,  Frank  meets  his  bier, 


EPISTLE    TO   F.    M.  ioi 


Which,  by  the  way,  is  not  eternal, 
But  called  a  bier  because  infernal. 

A  stool  it  is,  a  three-legged  stool, 
Which,  ah,  too  oft  supports  a  fool. 
Now  high  upon  the  top  you  spring, 

And  perch  you  there,  no  fool,  I  trow, 
No  fool  ;  but  O,  you  seem  a  thing 

So  close  resembling  one,  I  vow  ; 
My  neck  and  ears  give  forth  a  smile, 
For  I've  been  there  and  cussed,  the  while. 

And  now  you  set  the  music  going, 
And  melodies  come  flowing,  flowing, 
With  wild  fantastic  variation, 
And  subtle,  intricate  imitation. 
' '  What,  a  sonata  is  it,  folks  ?  " 
He  spake,  and  see,  the  villain  pokes 
A  neighboring  maid  with  loving  dig  ; 
She  answers  wisely,  "  That's  a  jig  !  " 

Yet  still  the  player  rattles  away, 
And  still  the  people  simper  and  say, 
And  the  player  groans  and  waxes  hot  ; 
O  he  could  murder  on  the  spot  ! 

But  soon  the  final  echoes  die, 
And  round  and  round  the  room  there  fly 
Manifold  sounds  of  iron-bound  praises, 
The  same  old  phrases,  same  old  phrases — 
'  That's  pretty  good,  that's  pretty  good  ! 
Remembered  it  all  !     I  never  could  ! ' ' 

Meanwhile  poor  Frank  sits  like  a  goose, 
Trying  to  cube  the  hypothenuse  ; 
Then  some  one  asks  him  for  a  song  ; 
His  proposition  comes  out  wrong. 
His  throat  now  gurgles  like  a  frog's, 
And  away  goes  Kuclid  to  the  dogs. 


102  AN  EARNEST   TIIANKSGIl'ING,    ETC. 

With  deep  emotion  and  strength  divine 

He  sings  of  love,  and  he  sings  it  fine — 

His  favorite — "  Ehrin  on  the  Rhine." 

But  lo  !  he  talks  of  soldier's  pensions, 

And  slips,  at  last,  into  Latin  declensions, 

While  higher  and  higher  grows  his  vexation, 

Till  he  ends  by  beginning  a  conjugation. 

The  piano  stops,  but  his  voice,  how  flat  ! 

As  he  shouts  "  amo,  amas,  amat !  " 

Then,  springing  up  in  frog-like  terror, 

He  hastes  to  expiate  his  error  ; 

Croaks  he  :   "  O  pardon  my  mixed  knowledge, 

I  am  a  candidate  for  college  !  " 

AN    EARNEST   THANKSGIVING;    OR   THE 
DRUNKARD    AND    HIS    BOY. 

WRITTEN   FOR   THE   CHILDREN'S   THANKSGIVING  ENTER 
TAINMENT. 

How  the  little  old  cottage  re-echoes 

With  the  voices  of  children  at  play  ! 
You  might  know  'tis  the  Thanksgiving  dinner 

That  makes  them  so  happy  to-day. 

There  it  sits,  on  the  table,  the  turkey, 
Pumpkin-pie  and  pudding,  and  cake  ; 

And  the  children  but  wait  for  the  signal, 
When  O,  what  a  havoc  they'll  make  ! 

The  mother,  a  woman  still  youthful, 

Though  her  hair  has  long  been  like  the  snow, 

Is  more  anxious  to-day  than  ever 
To  have  every  item  just  so. 

"  Mamma,"  said  bright  little  Mabel, 

' '  Never  before  had  we  flowers 
On  the  table  at  Thanksgiving  dinner  ! 

And  those  napkins,  and  spoons — are  they  ours  ? ' ' 


AN  EARNEST   THANKSGIVING,    ETC.  103 

"  Hush,  child,  it  is  all  for  your  father  ; 

I  want  to  make  this  one  day  glad  : 
For  twenty  years,  every  Thanksgiving, 

He's  been  drunk,  and  he's  acted  so  bad. 
"  Though  I  work  like  a  nailor  till  midnight, 

He'd  spend  the  last  cent  of  his  wages  ; 
Even  what  I've  been  raisin'  and  scrapin' 

He's  thrown  to  the  dogs  in  his  rages. 
"  As  he  started  this  morning  for  market, 

I  begged  him  to  keep  from  the  cup  ; 
And  I  sent  Jack  along  to  coax  him 

From  the  rum-shops,  and  hurry  him  up. 

"  O  if  only  this  once  he'd  come  sober, 
I'm  sure  that  our  home  would  be  blest  : 

Then  he  and  myself  and  the  children 
Could  offer  up  thanks  like  the  rest. 

"  But  hark  !     He's  out  at  the  gateway  ! 

Run  Mabel,  and  open  the  door  !  " 
Jack  alone  stepped  over  the  threshold  ; 

Jack  alone  stood  there  on  the  floor. 

He  was  only  a  lad  of  twelve  summers, 

But  the  flash  in  his  tearful  eye 
And  the  flush  on  his  cheek  were  tell-tales 

Of  a  wounded  pride  yet  high. 

"  I  won't  go  again  with  Papa  !  " 

He  said,  "  for  everyone 
Says,  when  they  see  us  passing, 

'  There's  the  drunkard  and  his  son  ! ' 
"Just  as  we  went  by  Johnson's, 

The  servant  called  out,  '  Net  and  Floy, 
Come  in  here,  my  dears,  from  the  side-walk, 

There's  the  drunkard  and  his  boy  !  ' 

"  Yes,  Mamma,  they  never  know  me 
As  Jack,  but,  '  The  drunkard's  son  ! '  " 

Here  he  faltered  ;  his  tears  fell  faster  ; 
He  retired  to  a  corner  alone. 


104  AN  EARNEST   THANKSGIVING,    ETC. 

Away  turned  his  mother  in  silence, 

Her  heart  was  too  full  to  speak, 
And  something  bright,  like  a  teardrop, 

Rolled  down  her  careworn  cheek. 
Hark  !  another  step  at  the  gateway  ! 

And  Mabel  flings  open  the  door  ; 
Her  father  stept  over  the  threshold — 

Her  father  stood  there  on  the  floor. 
He  smiled,  though  his  face  was  haggard 

And  his  eyes  with  a  newer  light  shone, 
But  he  moaned  as  he  glanced  at  the  corner 

Where  Jack  sat  weeping  alone. 
Then  he  went,  with  a  step  unsteady, 

As  one  that's  influenced  by  wine. 
And  kissed  Jack,  and  whispered  hoarsely, 

"  Come  now,  my  clear  boy,  and  don't  whine  ! 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  Jack,  but  your  blushes 
For  me  will  arise  no  more, 

For  I've  just  came  straight  from  the  chapel. 
Where  an  abstenance  lasting  I  swore. 

"  Yes.  I  swore,  and  I  mean  to  stick  by  it, 
No  matter  what  else  may  be  done, 

And  no  one  can  say  when  they  see  us  : 
'  There's  the  drunkard  and  his  son  !  ' 

The  mother  then  called  them  to  dinner, 

And  voices  rose  merry  and  gay  ; 
And  a  heartfelt  thanksgiving  was  offered  ; 

No  souls  were  more  earnest  than  they. 
The  turkey  and  pie  seemed  more  tempting, 

And  the  pudding  more  richness  displayed, 
And  the  children,  O  how  they  attacked  them  ! 

And  O  what  havoc  they  made. 
But  suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  father 

Never  afterwards  dampened  their  joy  ; 
For  these  words  always  echoed  within  him, 

"The  drunkard  and  his  boy." 


EVENING  HYMN.  105 

A   PRAYING  AND  TRUSTING. 

Our  minister  once  was  heard  to  say, 

"  Were  I  humble  and  poor  I'd  be  blest ; 

So,  for  humbleness  to  my  great  Father  I'll  pray, 
And  I'll  trust  to  my  church  for  the  rest." 

MORNING   HYMN. 

To  prayer,  to  prayer  !     The  blushes  of  morn 

Are  deepening  fast —  the  day-spring  is  born — 
While  Heaven's  vast  eye  in  its  radiance  laughs, 
And  Nature  from  life's  holy  fountain  quaffs. 

Come,  pour  to  the  skies,  to  our  God,  a  glad  prayer  ! 

May  its  echoes  take  birth  and  forever  live  there. 

To  prayer  !  the  day  and  its  cares  are  awake, 

And  yesterday  ne'er  from  her  slumber  shall  break  ! 

Her  morrow  is  here  ;  'tis  another  to-day  ; 

Act,  act  for  the  best  ere  it  passes  away. 
With  God  and  with  duty  enthroned  in  the  breast 
O  how  could  the  wide  world  make  mortal  more  blest  ? 

EVENING   HYMN. 

To  prayer,  to  prayer  !     Day  loses  her  smile, 

And  twilight's  dim  frown  waxes  deeper  the  while  ; 
And  night  will  soon  wing  o'er  the  azure  deep, 
And  hush  our  cares  into  halcyon  sleep. 

O  Father  of  Mercy,  thy  marvels  I  see  ! 

My  trust  is  in  Thee  !     My  trust  is  in  Thee  ! 

To  prayer  !  for  fled  is  the  day's  hierarch, 
And  ornate  with  new  splendor  is  Heaven's  wide  arc  ; 
The  moon  and  the  star  and  the  meteoroid 
Emparadise  earth  from  the  crystal  void  ; 
O  Author  of  Wonders  !  great  Father  of  Light, 
Vouchsafe  but  to  smile  on  my  soul  through  the  night. 


106  THE   HAUNTED   FOREST. 

OUR  DUTY. 

O  disconsolate  man,  why  fret  and  complain 
That  no  use  was  thy  birth,  that  thy  life  hath  been  vain  ? 
Bear  in  mind,  every  mortal  that  ever  draws  breath 
Has  a  duty  assigned  to  fulfill  before  death  ; 
And  thou  hast  thine  own,  be  it  great,  be  it  small, 
And  perhaps  unaware  thou  art  true  to  it  all. 
Hast  thou  e'er  helped  a  bosom  to  banish  distress  ? 
Hast  thou  e'er  helped  a  heart  into  happiness  ? 

Hast  thou  played  with  the  children,  and  taught  them  to 

play  ? 
Hast  thou  prayed  with  the  children,  and  taught  them  to 

pray  ? 
Hast  thou  smiled  on  the  good  ?  hast  thou  frowned  upon 

sin  ? 

Hast  thy  heart  felt  the  glow  of  true  kindness  within  ? 
Ay,  thy  duty  is  such  ;  yet  it  may  be  well  done 
By  a  tear  and  kind  word  for  the  desolate  one  ; 
Yea,  e'en  but  one  sigh  for  a  mortal  in  pain 
Were  enough  to  convince  that  thy  life  is  not  vain. 

THE   HAUNTED   FOREST. 

I  had  a  dream  of  woe  and  weal 

That  wrought  a  spell  on  me, 
Which  to  remember  makes  me  feel 

Its  nameless  ecstacy. 

Methought  the  pale  moon's  pensive  rays 
Came  floating  through  the  wood, 

Red'ning  the  evening's  purple  haze, 
And  wrapped  me  in  their  flood. 

Upon  my  burning  brow  they  smiled, 
My  burning  cheek  they  kissed  ; 

My  fever  that  had  reigned  so  wild 
No  longer  could  exist. 


THE    HACNTED   FOREST.  107 

I  wandered  'neath  wide-spreading  oaks, 

That  stood  like  giants  grand, 
Arrayed  in  leafy  summer  cloaks, 

Woven  by  Nature's  hand. 

Two  wavy  willows  soon  I  spied, 

Soft  swaying  to  and  fro, 
With  drooping  branches,  green  and  wide, 

That  swept  the  grass  below. 

Their  plumed  trunks  rose  proud  and  tall, 

Their  boughs  did  interlace, 
Forming  a  canopy  and  wall, 

An  arcade  blent  with  grace. 

A  lovelier  spot  has  never  been, 

Save  Eden  in  her  bloom  ; 
Rare  flowers  and  foliage  smiled  serene, 

Scatt'ring  their  sweet  perfume. 

It  seemed,  the  fay,  Enchantment,  shook 

Her  wand  of  love  and  balm, 
Sending  her  magic  o'er  the  brook, 

And  wind  and  wave  were  calm. 

The  charm  which  hung  about  the  place 

Gave  nameless  thrills  that  bless 
The  soul — O  who  would  not  embrace 

Such  taintless  happiness  ! 

Here,  'neath  the  archway,  so  ornate, 

A  lifeless  oak  I  found  ; 
Blasted  it  lay  ;  some  early  fate 

Had  dashed  it  to  the  ground. 

'Twas  mangled  limb  from  limb  away  ; 

It  formed  a  broken  span  ; 
There  in  destruction  did  it  lay, 

Like  many  a  fallen  man. 


108  THE   HAUNTED   FOREST. 

"Ah,  well  aday  !"  methought  it  sighed,— 

"  Alas  for  me  !  alas  ! 
In  youth  did  ruin  me  betide 

To  grovel  on  the  grass  ! 

"  Time  was  when  I  stood  just  as  straight 

As  thou  art  standing  now, 
Till  frowned  a  tempest  in  its  hate, 

And  rent  me  bough  from  bough. 

"Here  an  unhallowed  thing  I  lie, 

Death  e'er  assailing  me  ; 
Ay,  always  dying,  yet  cannot  die, 

Through  all  eternity. 

"While  time's  ydrad,  envenomed  fangs 

Gnaw  at  my  corse  unhearsed, 
And  slow  decay  yeans  deathless  pangs  ; 

Each  yeanling  is  accursed. 

"  Ah,  lackaday  !  ah,  lackaday  ! 

That  life  had  e'er  been  tasted  ! 
Youth  is  all  hope  and  smiles  to-day  ; 

To-morrow,  it  is  blasted  ! 

' '  Gramercy  !  what  a  sin-bound  snare 

Environs  the  heart's  estate  ! 
I  conjure  thee,  O  man,  beware  ! 

Take  heed  ere  thou  art  late  !  " 

Struck  dumb  to  hear  that  mystic  sound 

Take  voice  within  the  tree, 
I  glanced  with  ill  forebodings  round, 

But  no  live  thing  could  see. 

'Twas  strange,  indeed,  most  wondrous  strange, 

To  hear  a  tree  deplore, 
And  then  to  words  of  warning  change  : 

I  marveled  more  and  more. 


THE    HAUXTED   FOREST.  IOQ 

And  down  I  sat,  out-wrought,  dim-brained, 

By  leaden  thoughts  oppressed  ; 
And,  though  my  courage  still  remained, 

Somehow  I  could  not  rest. 

I  strove  to  reason,  but  in  vain, 

My  thoughts,  like  vapor,  flew  ; 
Nor  could  I  banish  from  my  brain 

That  voice  which  ghastlier  grew. 

Louder  and  louder  with  despair 

Still  rang  the  words  of  fate, — 
"  I  conjure  thee,  O  man,  beware  ! 

Take  heed  ere  thou  art  late  ! ' ' 

The  cold  sweat  soon  impearled  my  brow, 

My  hands  were  heavy  as  lead, 
My  breath  came  gasping  long  and  slow, 

And  my  heart  grew  chilled  and  dead. 

With  one  convulsive  throb  I  laughed, — 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  away,  ye  dreams  ! 
Mine  is  a  sick  mind  that  has  quaffed 

Fever's  fantastic  themes  !  " 

My  wild  voice  echoed  more  than  thrice, 

And  ghost-like  fluttered  round  ; 
And  in  a  trice  I  felt  like  ice, 

And  stiffened  in  a  s wound. 

While  cold,  imprisoned  in  that  trance, 

My  soul  within  awoke, 
And  winds  and  plants  gave  utterance, 

And  bird  and  brooklet  spoke. 


PROMETHEUS  BOUND, 

A   MONODY. 


112  PROMETHEUS  BOUATD. 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND. 

A    MONODY. 

Here  on  this  crag,  this  solitary  peak, 
Where  yawn  abysses,  bottomless  and  bleak, 
Whose  sunless  grots  give  forth  no  voice  of  life, 
Am  I  fast  bound,  beyond  all  hope  of  strife, 
Chained  by  the  hand  of  Vulcan, — woe  is  me  ! 
What  god  will  dare  to  cancel  Jove's  decree? 

Here  am  I  doomed  to  wither  on  the  rocks, 
Before  the  gaze  of  mortals,  and  of  flocks 
That  throng  the  free  realm  of  the  feathered  race. 
Whilst  fair  condoling  nymphs  with  words  of  grace 
But  rend  my  wounds  the  wider.     All  is  vain  ! 
Ay,  naught  created  can  assuage  my  pain  ! 

The  cloud-compellor  has  decreed  my  fate, 
That  I  for  time  unlimited  must  wait 
The  hour  when  once  again  I  shall  have  risen, 
Unfettered  from  this  grief- infested  prison. 
Yet  that  alone  were  gambol  to  endure, 
Could  I  from  deadlier  ills  remain  secure. 

'Tis  not  that  I  writhe,  blasted  and  o'erthrown, 

Nor  the  contortions  of  my  limbs  I  moan  ; 

'Tis  not  this  iron  bolt  through  m}r  quivering  frame, 

The  links  and  rivets  forged  in  Vulcan's  flame, 

For  even  the  vulture,  glutting  full  his  maw, 

Tearing  my  liver  with  his  gory  claw, 

My  steaming  liver,  which  grows  on  the  while. 

To  cloy  that  monster  with  new  flesh  and  bile. 

Not  even  these  is  it  that  wrings  my  heart, 

But  O,  ye  fuiies,  how  shall  I  impart 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND.  113 

The  coming  baleful  burdens,  mountain-high  ! 
Yet  live  I  must,  a  Titan  cannot  die  ! 

0  woes  on  woes,  unnumbered,  still  before  me  ! 
'Tis  they  that  whelm  the  pangs  relentless  o'er  me. 

Not  immortality  alone  doth  curse, 
But  power  to  know  the  future  ;  that  is  worse, 
Far  worse  than  all  the  ills  I  undergo  ; 
That  is  the  fuel  to  my  scorching  woe. 

Yet  this,  all  this,  tho'  now  beyond  control, 

Were  not  so  dire,  so  baneful  to  my  soul, 

Had  I  but  merited  e'en  half  the  fate 

Decreed  to  me  by  Jove's  unbridled  hate  ; 

But  oh  !  for  generous  deeds  I  grovel,  trod, 

Crushed  by  the  malice  of  a  self-willed  god, 

Flouted  by  all  gods  in  my  woe-girt  plight ; 

And  why  ?     Ask  why  !     O  for  some  starless  night, 

Some  rayless  blackness  to  obscure  entire 

The  emblazoned  heart,  the  eye's  indignant  fire, 

The  impious  smile  of  ridicule  and  scorn 

That  needs  must  e'en  by  mortals  all  be  worn, 

When  that  ephemeral  race  shall  hear  me  tell 

The  sin  for  which  I  suffer  such  a  hell. 

'Twas  this,  forsooth  :     My  tender  heart  gave  way 

In  pity  to  those  creatures  of  a  day, 

Who,  compassed  'round  with  ills  innumerable, 

Dragged  on  their  life,  a  transitory  spell — 

Its  fleetness  being  their  solitary  boon. 

What  eye  could  such  despairs  not  importune 

To  gracious  tears  ?     What  ear  could  they  not  gain  ? 

What  heart,  though  adamant,  could  they  not  pain  ? 

Mine  did  they  wrench  ;  they  smote  upon  mine  ears  ; 

1  wept — yea,  wept  ;  the  vapory  clouds  of  tears 
Bedewed  my  tremulous  features  ;  then  did  I, 
Alone  of  all  the  immortal  deity, 


114  PROMETHEUS  BOUXD. 

Descend  with  gifts  to  that  ill-fated  race. 
My  high  prerogatives  with  liberal  grace 
I  lavished  on  them.     First,  I  gave  them  fire, 
The  kindliest  boon  a  mortal  could  desire. 

And  O,  to  see  the  change,  the  wondrous  change  ! 

New  beings  all,  mankind's  whole  world  grew  strange. 

No  more  could  human  forms  be  seen  adrift, 

Hither  and  thither  tossed  by  Heaven's  whims. 

Without  self  motion  in  their  frozen  limbs— 

Their  nerves  benumbed  with  bitter  wind  and  frost ; 

No  more  in  midnight's  blackness  were  they  lost, 

Compelled  on  hand  and  knee  to  creep  abroad. 

By  touch  and  instinct  seeking  out  the  road  ; 

But  everywhere  was  found  a  happiness — 

The  blazing  hearth,  which  mortal  aye  shall  bless. 

Girt  round  by  faces  radiant  with  cheer, 

Fond  parents,  children,  gods  that  they  revere, 

And  lamplight  shed  a  lustre  o'er  the  room, 

And  made  what  was  till  then  unknown,  a  home  ; 

And  moonless  midnight  mocked  the  smile  of  day 

With  torch  to  light  the  traveler  on  his  way. 

Nor  was  this  all  ;  with  personal  command, 
I  taught  how  dwellings  'neath  the  human  hand 
Could  rear  themselves  into  a  stately  form, 
A  shield  impregnable  to  sun  and  storm, 
Free  from  the  insects  and  the  bats  and  owls, 
Which  haunt  their  former  'bodes,  within  the  bowels 
Of  cavernous  mountains  and  of  rock-flank' d  hills, 
But  dare  not  follow  with  their  odious  ills. 

On  man,  moreover,  were  bestowed  by  me 
Blind  hopes,  that  he  the  future  might  not  see  ; 
Else  ne'er  could  he  have  smiled.     'T\vas,  next  to  fire, 
The  kindliest  boon  a  mortal  could  desire. 

Then  snow-winged  chariots  of  the  sea  I  gave 
To  buffet  the  inhospitable  wave, 


PROMETHEUS  BOUND.  115 

And,  at  my  word,  o'er  highway  and  o'er  plain, 
Refulgent  cars  were  seen  to  whirl  amain, 
Whose  bra/en  ribs  and  highly-burnished  seats 
Flashed  scintillating  brilliance,  such  as  beats 
A  blindness  into  many  a  staring  eye, 
And  draws  down  envy  from  the  etherial  sky  ; 
And  all  the  gods  waxed  rancorous  at  me 
To  see  man  cinctured  with  such  fulgency. 

Nor  did  I  cease  to  give  ;  art  followed  art, 
Science  on  science  gushed  into  the  heart 
And  bla/.ed  a  bright,  bright  reason  in  the  breast, 
Which  made  man  like  a  god,  a  being  blest — 
A  reason  bright,  next  to  blind  hopes  and  fire, 
The  kindliest  boon  a  mortal  could  desire. 

All  these  into  that  race  did  I  instill, 

Then  fell  'neath  Jove's  inexorable  will, 

A  lesson  to  long  ages  yet  to  come  ! 

I  see  the  future  and  it  makes  my  doom 

The  heavier  ;  a  similar  fate  shall  bind 

All  benefactors  of  enthralled  mankind. 

O  right  has  turned  to  wrong,  and  wrong  to  right  ! 

And  justice  has  deserted  day  and  night ! 

The  thundering  sun  of  Saturn  craves  no  good, 

But  evil,  evil,  evil  is  his  food  ; 

E'en  for  such  crimes  as  he  himself  commits 

He  showers  down  vengeance  in  fierce  thunder-fits 

Upon  mankind  ;  his  vengeful  bolts  are  hurled 

From  erring  world  below  to  erring  world. 

In  hideous  guise,  as  punishment  divine, 

And  smite  transgressor  lewd  and  libertine, 

While  he  himself  back  to  his  couch  retires, 

Where  Venus  flames  lascivious  desires, 

Where  vile,  incestuous  nuptials  give  delight, 

And  nymphs  succumb,  responsive  to  his  might, 


Il6  PROMETHEUS  BOUXD. 

And  lecherous  goddesses  his  wish  obey, 
Whose  brazen  fronts  offend  the  god  of  day. 
Out,  out  upon  him  !  I  blaspheme  and  curse 
That  all-corruptor  of  the  universe  ! 

Xot  wondrous  were  it  to  behold  all  heaven 

Into  a  thousand  wide-jawed  chasms  riven, 

Flecked  with  the  fiery  paths  of  meteors  ; 

To  see  old  ocean  overleap  his  shores, 

Great  rivers  retrograde,  rush  toward  their  source, 

The  moon  stand  doubtful  midway  in  her  course, 

Eastward  the  chariot  of  the  sun  career, 

And  every  star  shoot  headlong  from  its  sphere. 

Xot  these  were  marvels  now,  not  e'en  the  worst ! 

Since  virtue's  dead  and  justice  is  reversed. 

Yet  thou,  Oceanus,  the  staunchest  friend 

Prometheus  knows,  thou  blindly  wouldst  ascend 

To  that  all-miscreative  tyrant,  Jove, 

Before  the  taunts  of  every  god  above, 

With  prayer  and  importunity  for  grace 

From  one  that  has  no  grace,  but  malice  base — 

All-withering  malice,  rage  and  dastard  hate, 

Which  no  submission  can  propitiate — 

Submission  ?  I  submit  ?  and  to  his  rod  ? 

He  is  my  slave,  my  menial,  not  my  god  ! 

Yea,  heed  me  !  in  response  to  thy  request, 
The  unhallowed  king,  the  omnipotent  unblest, 
Forgetful  of  all  ancient  favors  tasted, 
Will  hurl  thee  to  perdition,  ever  blasted, 
Impaled  in  lightless  flames,  invested  round 
With  Stygian  agonies  without  a  bound. 

No,  my  Oceanus,  O  go  not  there  ! 

No  prayer  for  me,  nor  thought,  nor  sign  of  prayer 

Shall  ever  seek  a  being  that  I  scorn, 

Whose  craven  face  insults  the  light  of  morn, 


PROMETHEUS  BOUND.  117 

Who,  loveless,  faithless,  sways  the  imperial  rod, 

Of  gods  the  most  unfit  to  be  a  god — 

A  spirit  I  despise,  detest,  abhor, 

And  shall  despise,  and  shall  for  evermore, 

A  deathless  adversary  ;  hate  and  curse  ! 

My  direst  imprecations,  ay,  worse,  worse  ! 

Threats  unrevealed  shall  storm  his  foul,  foul  heart, 

Each  threat  a  pang,  a  woe-envenomed  dart. 

Nor  will  I  fear,  nor  need  I  fear  ;  I'm  'reft 

Well  nigh  of  sense — small  pain,  small  solace  left ; 

So  let  him  lord  it  even  as  he  list, 

Invent  new  hell-racks  to  disjoint  and  twist ; 

Annihilate  he  can  not,  god  of  the  sky, 

For  live  I  must,  a  Titan  can  not  die. 

Yet  death  were  sweet,  since  free  from  agony, 

But  such  were  triumph  to  my  foe  o'er  me, 

And  smells  of  vanquishment.     No,  furies,  no  ! 

L,acerate,  tear  with  sharp-fanged  woe  on  woe  ! 

Woe  is  my  element,  as  wrong  is  his, 

As  jealousy,  as  guilt,  as  hatred  is  ; 

As  hate  shall  e'en  be  mine,  time  yet  to  be, 

When  down  shall  crash  his  tottering  dynasty. 

Then  will  great  Jove  his  ancient  friends  recall, 

The  warrior  gods  that  wrought  his  father's  fall, 

And  him  instated  on  the  heavenly  throne, 

And  gave  a  wisdom  to  be  his  alone  ; 

Sons  of  Uranus  and  of  Earth  were  they, 

The  race  of  mighty  Titans  ;  yet  the  pay 

For  this  old  friendship,  this  high  .service  given, 

Ten  thousand  black  reproaches  flings  to  heaven. 

I,  in  return  for  favors  done  of  old, 

Am  chained  and  crucified  for  years  untold. 

Atlas,  my  brother,  strong  and  terrible, 
Dreaded  alike  by  Saturn  and  deep  hell, 


118  PROMETHEUS   BOUND. 

Groans  'neath  the  incommensurable  weight 
Of  heaven's  star-burdened  vault,  a  pillar  great. 
Mighty,  yet  vacillating  'neath  the  strain 
Of  worlds  on  worlds  his  shoulders  e'er  sustain, 
Seeming  eternally  about  to  fall ; 
Yet  does  not  fall,  for  Jove's  accursed  thrall 
Fates  him  to  stand  in  endless,  vast  endeavor, 
Half  tipping  o'er  forever,  ever,  ever  ! 

And  his  own  tresses,  miles  long,  disentwined, 

Hither  and  thither  ride  the  furious  wind, 

And  lash  his  limbs  with  venomous  blow  on  blow, 

While  from  a  million  wide-mouthed  wounds  there  flow 

Streams  of  dark  crimson,  which  his  barren  tears 

Swell  to  a  turbulent  tide,  and  no  one  hears 

His  lamentation,  for  his  bitterness 

He  moans  and  wails  in  murmurs  echoless. 

Alas  !  his  irremediable  plight ! 

His  breast  in  sharp-tooth' d,  vaporous  flames  is  dight, 

Which  gnaw  its  inmost  core  and  spit  despair, 

An  ineradicable  venom,  there. 

Thus  bound  and  damned  forever  does  he  sigh  ; 

Still,  live  he  must,  a  Titan  cannot  die. 

He,  in  return  for  favors  done  of  old, 

Is  chained  and  blasted  there  for  years  untold. 

Typhon,  my  earth-born  brother,  hundred-headed, 
Whose  prowess  furies,  hell  and  Saturn  dreaded, 
Writhes,  disempowered  and  whelmed  and  bound,  beneath 
Etna's  stupendous  mountain,  while  his  breath, 
All  sulphurous,  flaming,  lurid,  bursts  her  crest ; 
And  he,  stretched  prone  in  bitterest  unrest 
And  anguish — anguish,  O  ineffable  ! 
Encinctured  'round  by  fires  that  hiss  and  yell, 
He  rolls  and  turns,  in  vain  he  turns  and  rolls, 
Upheaving  from  the  mount's  infernal  bowels 


PNOMETHEUS  BOUND.  119 

Lava  and  boulders,  which  are  headlong  hurled, 

A  havoc  wide  into  the  outer  \vorld  ; 

And  burnt  is  he,  e'en  to  a  cinder  burnt, 

His  hundred  heads  to  a  hundred  crisps  are  turnt. 

Thus  evermore  he  moans  in  agony  ; 

Still,  live  he  must,  a  Titan  can  not  die. 

He  in  return  for  favors  done  of  old, 

Is  chained  and  blasted  there  for  years  untold. 

Ingratitude  !  ingratitude  !  what  name 

Enough  misshapen  for  thy  monstrous  frame  ! 

But  words  are  idle  ;  there  will  come  a  time 

When  Heaven  shall  vomit  forth  her  vice  and  crime, 

Nor  shadows  shall  there  be  of  things  that  are. 

O  Ion,  hapless  maiden,  driven  afar, 

From  land  to  land,  o'er  sea,  o'er  forest  dun, 

O'er  snow-capp'd  mounts  that  neighbor  on  the  sun — 

Thou,  whom  enamored  Jupiter  gives  chase, 

For  ever  thwarted — thou,  whose  beauteous  face, 

Sought  by  the  love,  then  by  the  fierce  displeasure 

Of  highest  God,  grieves  thee  beyond  all  measure — 

Do  thou  take  heart !  thou  art  a  glorious  maid  ; 

Full  thrice  three  thousand-fold  shalt  thou  be  paid 

For  all  thy  woe,  thy  blood-traced  aberrations. 

Glory  is  thine  ;  with  ten  more  generations, 

The  third  of  thine  own  lineage,  dire  to  see, 

Shall  overthrow  Jove's  hated  dynasty. 

Then  Jove  shall  fall  e'en  as  his  sire  of  yore  ; 
Jove,  evil's  microcosm,  shall  reign  no  more. 
Then,  then  that  king  will  envy  me  my  doom  ; 
His  shade,  diminished  to  a  ghost  of  gloom, 
Shall  sink  forever  through  the  boundless  void, 
Inflamed  in  ether  like  a  meteoroid — 
Down,  down  his  course,  forever  downward  thrown — 
Down  through  the  dark  abysm — down — ever  down. 


120  PROMETHEUS  BOUND. 

But  ho  !  a  gale  !  the  sea  begins  to  fry  ! 

Daughter  of  Irfachus,  take  warning,  fly  ! 

The  deep-toned  billow  from  its  slumber  breaks  ; 

The  limitless  expanse  of  ether  quakes  ; 

Now  all  the  elements  are  impelled  to  motion  ; 

Embroiled  is  black-browed  Heaven  with  the  ocean, 

And  there  and  there  portentous  fire  appears — 

See,  see  !  he  nears — Jove's  gaunt  phantasm  nears, 

And  nears  his  chained,  though  still  unvanquished,  foe 

To  poison  more  my  unrepented  woe. 

Flee,  flee,  ye  nymphs  !  ye  children  of  the  sea — 

Ye  daughters  of  prolific  Thetis — flee, 

Lest  share  ye  my  unenviable  fate — 

Flee,  mother,  flee  !  escape  the  avenger's  hate  ! 

The  thunderbolts  dart,  three-fold  interwoven  ; 

Vales  sever,  adamantine  rocks  are  cloven — 

Woe,  woe  is  me  !  the  fell  inventions  new  ! 

Anguish  !  eternal  anguish  !     Elelcu  ! 

Ah,  Eleleu  !  ah  me  !  my  lidless  eyes  ! 

Pangs  rend  my  heart,  as  lightnings  rend  the  skies — 

Pain  !  inextinguishable  pain  !     Yet  I, 

Imperishable,  can  not,  would  not  die  ! 

Still  no  submission  !     No  !  forever  no  ! 

Food  of  my  soul,  unutterable  woe  ! 

Agony,  fire-fanged  agony  and  lasting  ! 

No  sleep,  no  rest,  but  endless  pain  and  blasting  ! 

Pain,  pain  envenomed,  never  ceasing,  never  ! 

Pain,  pain,  all  pain,  forever,  ever,  ever. 


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